


Holes in You (The Kind That I Could Not Mend)

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark spends spring break in Florida with Eduardo and is amazed by the wealth and trappings of the Saverins, but the shine wears off when he sees how badly Wardo's treated in his own house by his own family. Mark musters all the awkward empathy he can and their friendship deepens and turns physical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holes in You (The Kind That I Could Not Mend)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [tsn-springfest](http://tsn-springfest.livejournal.com/), fanmix [here](http://serenatechair.livejournal.com/8773.html).

_“And you could flutter those lashes I've been trying to ignore / Been trying to ignore you, and I will wait / For the real thing…”  
\--“The Real Thing” by The Macabees_

Eduardo makes the suggestion out of nowhere, and Mark is totally blindsided by it.

It’s just a normal afternoon. Mark and Dustin are sitting on the common room floor, playing a very intense round of Halo. Eduardo is lounged out across the couch, pretending to study (although he hasn’t turned the page in an hour), and Chris is _actually_ studying, occasionally pausing to laugh at Dustin’s repeated losses.

Mark is so close to once again beating Dustin he can taste it, and that’s when Eduardo looks up from his Econ textbook and says, “Mark, do you want to come to Miami with me for Spring Break?”

He literally jumps with shock, accidentally pressing the wrong button on the controller, and Dustin kills him instantly.

Dustin turns to them, arms raised in victory, and whoops so loudly Mark’s ears ring. Eduardo winces and Chris throws a pillow at Dustin, “Oh my _god,_ you _imbecile_! Some of us are studying, Dustin!” he yells, but Dustin is too busy running a celebratory lab around the room and yelling happily to notice.

“My triumph is legendary! They will speak of it for ages! There will be _odes_ and _ballads_ written about it, art painted and movies made! Remember this moment gentleman, one day you will say that you were there the day Dustin Moskovitz defeated the evil arch supervillian, Mark Zuckerberg!” he narrates in an overdramatic voice, flopping down on the couch.

Mark scowls and glares at Dustin, while Eduardo giggles silently, tears streaming from his eyes as he clutches his stomach with the force of it. Even Chris is rolling his eyes, but it comes out as fond more than anything else.

“Shut up Dustin, it was a fluke. Eduardo distracted me,” he pouts, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Eduardo sobers up quickly, looking nervous again and sitting up to backtrack. “Look, Mark, it was just an idea, if you don’t want to, it’s totally okay--”

“No, no, Wardo—I want to,” Mark says, the words spilling out of him before he’s even conscious of it. But he knows it’s true as soon as he thinks of it; spending Spring Break with Eduardo will mean less time his mom will fuss over him, less time for his sisters to bug him… Plus, who is he kidding; he’ll take any chance he can get to be around Eduardo. “I mean, I’ll have to talk to my parents and everything, but…”

Dustin interrupts him. “Dude, that won’t even be a problem, Mark’s mom will be all over the idea, not to mention the fact that it will finally assure her that Eduardo’s definitely real--”

Chris chokes on his drink, sputtering and whipping his head back and forth between the two of them, and Mark shoots Dustin a glare that makes his face wilt.

Eduardo just looks puzzled, and laughs a little. “What? Why wouldn’t she think that I’m real?”

At least Dustin has the good sense to look a little embarrassed about the whole thing as he starts to explain haltingly, “Well, sometimes when Mark is coding or in the middle of something his phone will ring and it’s usually his mom, so I’ll just pick it up--”

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Mark mutters under his breath.

“—and just talk to Karen for a little bit--”

Chris cuts him off then, “You call Mark’s mom by her first name, you answer his phone, _this is not okay--_ ”

Dustin glowers at all of them and resumes talking. “—before I hand her off to Mark. And anyway, she doubted Eduardo’s existence because I tell her about how Eduardo makes sure he goes to class and eats actual food and showers on a regular basis, so she thought we had made him up to get her off Mark’s back.”

There’s silence for about a minute, which is broken when Eduardo _bursts_ out laughing, so hard that Mark is worried he may bust a gut from his hysterics. Chris joins in, tears streaming from his eyes and gasping for breath, and even Dustin is chuckling. Mark just crosses his arms and stomps into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

He snatches out his laptop and plugs in his headphones, mashing the power button so that it will turn on and fuming silently while he waits for it to start up. He hears a soft knock on his door, and snaps, “Go away.”

There’s another knock, and Mark is seriously considering storming over there are verbally eviscerating them _all_ instead of just ignoring it, but then he hears a quiet voice that’s just a touch pleading. “Mark, it’s me. Can I come in?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, contemplating blowing him off, but it’s an entirely futile exercise and he knows it. So instead he just makes a noncommittal noise, and Eduardo opens the door and walks in hesitantly, closing the door behind him, where the sounds of Dustin and Chris’ childish giggling are still audible.

Eduardo looks sheepish and walks forward and perches on the corner of Mark’s bed. “Hey.”

“Mmph,” Mark grunts. His laptop is booted up now, and he clicks on the Perl icon furiously and starts typing.

Eduardo scrubs over his face. “Look, Mark, I’m sorry.”

Mark shrugs a little. “’S fine, Wardo,” he says easily. Really, it is… He’s not really angry, just incredibly annoyed with Dustin. He’s not very good at being mad at Eduardo.

Eduardo smiles a little then. “So, Miami. You’re sure you want to?”

Mark turns away from his laptop to focus on Eduardo, to take in his slightly worried expression. And then he smiles, “Yeah. That’d be- that’d be, um. Nice.”

Eduardo smiles at him softly, and their eyes are locked for a handful of precious seconds before Mark blushes and turns away. “Good,” he hears Eduardo murmur, sort of quiet and happy.

Chris clears his throat loudly while Dustin makes an exaggerated, sappy “Awwwww!” and they’re both reminded that there are other people right next door. Mark hadn’t even realized they had gone quiet, and feels the urge to shout at Dustin again. Eduardo looks embarrassed and ducks his head, walking back into the common room to bury himself in his Econ textbook again, and Mark chucks a shoe at Dustin’s head in retaliation.

\--

So yeah, Mark kind of has a crush on Eduardo. It’s not really a surprise anymore.

It had been at first—the hot pull in his stomach the first time he saw Eduardo at that stupid AEPi party, the way his heart had tripped over itself every time Eduardo slung his shoulder around Mark’s neck or lead him by the small of his back—it had just _freaked him out_. Mark had never really felt anything but sexual attraction before, but this… this was a definite, for real, no-denying-it _crush_.

He’s pretty much resigned himself to the fact that nothing’s going to happen, though. Eduardo touches _everyone_ , smiles at _everyone_ , and it’s not like Mark was deluding himself; he knows he’s not exactly a catch. Mark makes friends out of convenience: he wears people down until eventually they start to like him against their will.

And yet…

Eduardo is different. He’s charmed by Mark even when he’s being incredibly impolite (and Eduardo values politeness and manners above almost everything else). He doesn’t seem to mind when Mark codes while they talk, and he seems to trust that Mark is listening even though most people wouldn’t (and he _is_ , by the way, he pays attention to all of the stories Eduardo tells him about his family and Brazil and meteorology and even listens to him run through Econ flash cards or just babble about anything that runs through Eduardo’s head. He listens even when Eduardo doesn’t think he is). This goes beyond the realm of friendship for convenience. And because of all this, Mark just _barely_ allows himself to hope. So he wants to go to Miami for Spring Break.

He works up the courage to call his mom a couple days after the original conversation. She picks up immediately. “Mark? Honey? What’s wrong?” She fires the questions at him, sounding frantic with worry.

“Mom, can I—wait, what? Nothing’s wrong, why would you think something’s wrong?”

She exhales a sigh of relief. “Well, sweetie, when someone picks up your phone I always end up talking to Dustin first, and you _never_ call me, and--”

Mark huffs. “Yeah yeah yeah, _Dustin_. Anyway. Can I spend spring break in Miami with Eduardo?”

His request is met with silence on the other line, and it makes Mark a little twitchy with nerves.

“…Eduardo asked you?” she finally asks, sounding skeptical.

“Yes,” Mark says firmly.

“And you didn’t invite yourself.”

“Nope.”

“Are you _sure_?” she persists, still unconvinced, which is just frustrating Mark even more and he clenches his jaw.

“ _Mom_.”

“Is Eduardo there?”

Mark sighs, rubbing at his temples with one hand. “Yeah, he’s in the common room playing video games with Chris and Dustin. Why?”

“Let me speak to him.”

“Mom--”

“Mark, I promise I won’t embarrass you, I just want to make sure--”

He cuts her short with an irritated sigh and takes the phone away from his ear to trudge into the common room, stopping short in front of Eduardo, holding out the phone. Eduardo just looks up at him and quirks one eyebrow, the very picture of befuddlement. Mark just rolls his eyes and chews on his bottom lip in annoyance, muttering, “It’s for _you_.”

Eduardo smirks a little and takes the phone from Mark carefully. “Hello?”

Mark plows back to his desk and _tries_ not to listen to every word Eduardo says, but he can’t help himself. Not that it’s particularly interesting (the extent of their conversation is literally, “Hello? Yes… No, not at all! I did… Yeah, they’re fine with it… Aw, thank you! It’s not a problem… my pleasure… We will. Thank you.”), but Mark still finds him worrying over every little shift in Eduardo’s tone of voice, every little laugh. He glares at his computer screen and resumes typing furiously as he hears Eduardo walk into his room.

“What?” Mark says, still focused on his laptop, like he can’t be bothered. In his periphery he can see Eduardo roll his eyes with a little bit of fondness.

So Eduardo, being the ridiculous person he is, bows at the waist and holds the phone out with a flourish in front of Mark. “It’s for _you_ ,” he says with a smile, in a perfect imitation of Mark’s earlier statement.

Mark can’t help but wonder how this guy is seriously _real_.

He bites the inside of his cheek to avoid breaking out into a full out grin, but some of it probably slips through against his will because Eduardo beams right back at him as Mark snatches the phone out of his hand. Then he heads back out into the common room.

Mark gets up to close the door to his room. “What did you say to him?” he hisses impatiently.

“Sweetie, it was not a big deal. I just asked if you invited yourself or pressured Eduardo to invite you, and he said no and assured me it was all his idea. I also made sure it was okay with his parents and then thanked him for basically _keeping you alive and healthy_ according to Dustin--”

“Fucking _Dustin_..” Mark hisses under his breath, just out of habit. Why does Dustin insist on interfering on every aspect of his life?

“What was that?” his mom snaps. Damn her and her bionic hearing.

“Nothing.”

She makes a knowing and triumphant sound. “That’s what I thought… Anyway, and then I told the two of you to have fun in Miami,” she finishes.

Mark makes a noncommittal noise as he falls back into his chair. “Okay.”

His mother laughs a little, as if she knows that he doesn’t believe her. “I’m glad you and your friend will have fun over spring break,” she says, and she even sounds a little watery, like she’s tearing up or something… Oh god, Mark has to get off the phone. He’s not good at dealing with emotions.

“Yeah, thanks. Look, mom I’ve gotta go--” he says, mentally racking his brain to come up with a good excuse to end the call.

“Sweetie?” she asks, sounding a little more off-balance now, but not in the same way.

“Uh huh?” Mark hums, is mind already half focused on the code in front of him.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

Mark freezes. She sounds… concerned, and for one terrifying split second Mark is sure that she _knows_. But how could she, from the handful of phone calls they’re sporadically exchanged lately, possibly have figured out that Mark has a crush the size of the _sun_ on Eduardo? There’s no way. Besides, she’s a mom. Worrying is like, a professional sport for her. There’s a million and one things she could be thinking about: how safe Miami is, if Mark will embarrass her in front of the Saverins, if Mark will get a sunburn so bad that it’ll peel for days. Tons of things… chances are that whatever it is has nothing to do with Eduardo.

“Sure, mom,” he replies, letting his obvious confusion seep through his voice.

She sniffs a little bit, and Mark is _definitely_ sure that she’s getting emotional, god knows why. “Alright, goodbye Mark. I love you,” she says with a bit of a laugh, like she knows that she’s letting him off the hook.

“Bye Mom. Uh… Iloveyoutoo,” he answers, words spilling out so fast they run together. As he hangs up, he hears her laughing softly on the other end as he wires in.

\--

Somehow, spring break manages to seem like it takes _forever_ and comes way too fast all at once. He’s caught between being so excited he doesn’t know what to do with himself and being scared shitless. Either way, they’re going to the airport and boarding the plane and Mark is still trying to convince himself that this is actually _happening._

But Eduardo’s laugh brings him back to the present as he stows a bag in the overhead compartment. “You know,” he starts, “You’ll probably like Miami, Mark. Shorts and flip flops are actually appropriate attire there.”

Mark sputters. “Who says they’re not here?”

Eduardo sits down next to him and gives him a carefully blank look. “Mark… It snows here.”

Mark folds his arms over his chest and glares at the seat in front of him. “I’m aware of that,” he mumbles, which makes Eduardo bark out a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re aware of it. I’ve seen you run out into the snow in your flip flops risking frostbite _more than once_ , if you still weren’t aware of it I’d be questioning your intellect instead of just your common sense.” The comment makes Mark crack a bit of a smile, which Eduardo sees and causes his own to widen as he lays back in his seat.

He turns his head towards Mark a little tentatively, like he’s turning to find the right words to say. “Mark…” Mark makes a neutral grunt and continues flipping through the computer science magazine, because he knows if he looks at Eduardo full-on when he’s smiling like that he may end up blushing. But then Eduardo’s expression changes into something uncertain, and Mark turns to look at him. “There’s something I should tell you about my family.”

Now Mark’s eyes widen a little bit, because Eduardo looks actually _worried_ about this as he turns aways, like he thinks whatever he’s going to say is going to change Mark’s opinion of him (like _that_ would ever happen). Eduardo looks away and plucks some lint off his black slacks (Mark’s decided that he’s probably the only person alive who dresses like this for a four hour flight to go _home_ ).

“We’re kind of… um… we’re kind of wealthy.” Then he quickly turns to Mark, as if to make sure he’s not agape in horror or something.

Mark actually chuckles. “Why did you think I’d care about that? You know that I don’t care about money.”

Eduardo huffs, like he’s having trouble getting it across. “No, Mark, we’re like, really rich.”

Mark still looks at him uncomprehendingly, not getting why this is such a big deal. “…Okay, so you’re rich.”

Eduardo sighs exasperatedly again, shifting in his seat so that he’s facing Mark head on. “No, Mark we’re _rich_ ,” he repeats, like he’s talking to a slow child, emphasizing every syllable. “Like, I was on the list of kidnapping targets when I was little, rich. Like, we live in a mansion, rich. _Rich_ rich, Mark.”

Mark’s eyes widen as it sinks in. “ _Rich_ rich?! Wardo…”

Eduardo laughs a little hysterically and turns away, scrubbing a hand over his face. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, a note of relief creeping into his voice. “And I just don’t want you to be caught off guard by it, but I couldn’t find a good time to tell you and I’m really sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, Wardo—it’ll be fine. I don’t know why you’re getting all hung up over this,” Mark cuts him off, trying for reassuring but probably coming off more like bemused.

The tense lines in Eduardo’s face smooth out, and he exhales. “Okay. You’re right.” Then he turns back to Mark, a sweet, tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’re going to have a good break.”

Mark feels spots of color rise high on his cheeks as he looks at Eduardo, and his heart does a somersault. He smiles back shyly, and he feel can feeling the air between them thrumming with excitement as they hold eye contact for what feels like forever. Mark is the first one to turn away and look down at his lap, and he can’t help but wish he had the courage to hold on a little longer to see what would happen.

\--

_“But oh god, that look in your eye / Trouble that does not search words / It sprung from the biblical vine / And are waiting to return to the dirt…”  
\--“Broken Horse” by Freelance Whales_

As soon as they step out of the Miami airport, things are different. The air is thick and heavy with humidity, and the city is loud and busy. Different accents and languages vibrate through the atmosphere, babbling and turning to gibberish. Mark is jostled around on the sidewalk by a gaggle of attractive dark-haired women who are laughing loudly, and Eduardo grabs him by the elbow so that he doesn’t fall off the sidewalk.

He turns back to look at Eduardo, and notices that he’s different too. The lines of this body are loosened, as if just the environment has relaxed him tenfold. He blends right in with the feel of Miami. Eduardo is sporting a hint of a smile and he’s practically radiating contentment. The thought hits Mark all at once: _he looks beautiful_.

Mark shakes his head imperceptibly, like he’s trying to shake off the thought, but it just reverberates through his mind like an echo… _he’s beautiful he’s beautiful he’s beautiful he’s beautiful_.

“My family’s town car is coming to pick us up,” Eduardo informs him, and even the way he _speaks_ is different; the words blend into each other more easily and his Portuguese accent, normally barely noticeable, is a little more pronounced.

“Town car?” Mark asks incredulously.

Eduardo pulls a face. “It’s like a limo, but… not.”

And Mark is starting to get the feeling that maybe there’s a reason Eduardo waited so long to tell him about his family’s circumstances is because he doesn’t like it. Mark’s always suspected that Eduardo had issues with his family, but he always figured it wasn’t his place to ask.

It makes sense though, he decides. Eduardo’s always kind of made a big deal about doing things for himself, whether though the Harvard Investors Association or that internship in oil futures he’s going out for. Maybe he’ sensitive that people will give him advantages he doesn’t deserve because he comes from money. Or to prove to his family that he’s not spoiled. Either way, Mark resolves to tread lightly around the whole subject, so he just nods.

A sleek, expensive looking black car pulls up to the curb, and Eduardo grabs his bag and wheels it forward. Mark follows, watching as the driver opens the door and runs around to the side to open the door for Eduardo.

Eduardo laughs, loud and free, calling, “Armando!” and pulling the man into a quick hug. Armando smiles back at Eduardo, and they speak a few sentences back and forth in Portuguese that mean nothing to Mark. Then Eduardo says, “Ah!” and turns to Mark.

“Mark, this is Armando. He’s one of our family’s staff, been with us ever since we were both two. He’s like a brother to me.”

Armando reaches out to shake Mark’s hand. “How do you do?”

Mark manages a gruff, “Nice to meet you” and tries not to seem like a complete social outcast.

But Armando just nods agreeably, apparently as easygoing as Eduardo, and opens the door for them, then turns back to Mark and says, “Welcome to Miami.”

\--

Pulling up to Eduardo’s house, Mark decides that Eduardo still managed to underplay the whole wealth aspect, because mansion doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it.

There are _gates_ , okay. Like, the kind where Armando has to press a code to let the car through. And it’s just so expansive; Mark doesn’t even think the whole house is visible from the street.

While Armando pulls the car through towards the immense staircase at the front of the house, Eduardo lets out a nervous laugh beside him, and Mark realizes he’s just been staring out the window, open-mouthed, this whole time. Mark whips around to stutter at him. “Wardo, what… _This_ is your house?”

Eduardo nods, looking a little wary.

“It’s…” Mark doesn’t even know how to describe it; he’s just in awe. He feels like Eduardo had this whole secret life he never even hinted at, and it’s taking Mark a while to process it. “It’s huge.”

“I know,” Eduardo half-laughs, and then casts his eyes out the window to look at the monstrosity in front of them while Armando handles their bags. Then he scoffs. “God, what an eyesore.”

That’s not really how Mark would put it. It’s certainly not any great beauty, except in that kind of pathetic, dismal way antiques look. Because really, that’s the only thing Mark can think to compare it to. It’s kind of old-world, a relic of another time, clearly conforming to different styles than the houses (which are significantly smaller, but still sizable) far off to either side. It does kind of stick out like a sore thumb, screaming privilege and money, and it’s no wonder Eduardo was a target for kidnappings if he lived _here_.

As if he can’t look at it another minute, Eduardo throws open the door and jumps out of the car. Mark scrambles to follow him.

“Thank you, Armando,” Eduardo tells him, taking some of their bags and pausing in front of the door, waiting for Mark to gather his things. Mark hurries behind, and when he catches up, Eduardo fumbles in his pocket for the keys, turning to Mark. “My parents aren’t home; otherwise we’d be going in the back.”

The key clicks in the lock, and Eduardo pushes it open, lifting his eyebrows and a strained smile appearing. “Now I can give you the tour.”

They wheel their bags in. Eduardo drops his as soon as they are inside and Mark follows suit, taking in the luxurious tiles, exorbitant chandelier, high ceilings, and winding staircase. He knows his mouth is gaping, but he can’t help it.

Eduardo is less than impressed. His eyes flick over the familiar settings in a quick once over and then he’s continuing on into the next room, bursting through the door. “This is the parlor,” he calls over his shoulder.

Mark is about to say something about the archaic use of the world _parlor_ , but it is soon overshadowed by the room itself. It reminds Mark of the formal living room his grandparents had, the room that was always off-limits in hide and seek because things in there were too breakable. He had always felt uncomfortable in there, and he feels the same way in Eduardo’s parlor now. There are stiff-backed chairs all facing each other, a coffee table, and some very expensive looking vases and lamps. It almost reminds him of a museum, and Mark already can’t imagine being a child in this house, growing up here.

There are doors on the side that lead to a formal dining room with a long table that is capable of seating eighteen, which adjoins the family dining room, which seats ten.

“You and your parents ate here every night when you were younger? With all these empty seats?” he asks, sounding perplexed.

Eduardo’s eyes widen and he turns to Mark with a mildly horrified expression. “God, no! I always used to eat in the kitchen when I could,” Eduardo explains, striding over to a swinging door which leads into a state-of-the-art kitchen. He leans against the large island in the middle of the room and sighs. “I would get the staff to help me with my homework or tell me stories. Plus Armando was usually in here,” he shrugs, looking around. “My parents ate out there,” he finishes, nodding towards the door they just came through.

Mark doesn’t even know what to say. He can’t imagine this life, so different from his own, and he doesn’t understand how Eduardo turned out to be the way he is under these circumstances. Eduardo is the most friendly, down-to-earth person Mark knows…

Eduardo looks around for a minute, and Mark can practically see the memories flitting before his eyes. Then he shudders a little, trying to shake them off. “Come on,” he says, making his way out of the room at a brisk pace and taking the stairs two at a time. Mark follows.

Eduardo pauses at the top of the (excessively long and winding, in Mark’s humble opinion) stairs and points down the hallway. “That’s the west wing, my parents’ rooms are down there.” He turns one-eighty degrees and starts to walk. “This is the east wing, where my rooms are.”

Mark blinks at him. “ _Rooms_? Plural?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo says easily, twirling around to face Mark and continuing to walk backwards. “Bedroom, guest room, rec room, two bathrooms. Same setup on the other side.” Mark just gapes at him, which makes Eduardo wince a little and then stop in his tracks.

“I’m sorry. I know this is probably...” he scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, “…a lot to take in.”

Mark nods for a moment, contemplative. “Yeah, but I mean… it will be okay. I’ll get used to it, I promise.” Eduardo looks relieved to hear that, which immediately makes Mark feel better. Then Mark quirks a smile. “Just don’t get annoyed with me if— _when_ I’m awkward. I don’t really know how to act in, like…” he shrugs “formal situations.”

Eduardo beams at him and continues into his room. “Mark, I won’t get annoyed with you,” and then claps him on the back. Mark tries to bite down on his smile.

\--

They cart their stuff upstairs and get Mark set up in the guest bedroom, and then spend the rest of the day hanging out in Eduardo’s room. Mark doesn’t like the feel of the guest room, despite how big and luxurious it is. Sure, all guest rooms are impersonal, but this one is excessively so. Plus, Mark is pretty sure that the only person who would actually be comfortable in here is a ninety year old woman with a penchant for scary dolls.

“Seriously Wardo, I’m afraid that they’re going to come alive and eat me in my sleep.” Eduardo laughs freely, head thrown back as they play Halo in Eduardo’s rec room (which is _seriously_ decked out, by the way… a ridiculously large Mac and two flat screens, along with every game console Mark can think of). “ _Why_ do you have them anyway?”

Eduardo sighs and rolls his eyes, put upon. “Apparently they are heirlooms my mother couldn’t bear to part with.”

Mark huffs out a laugh. “Then why aren’t they in _her_ guest room?” he mutters under his breath. Of course, Eduardo catches it and just laughs harder.

So, obviously, he doesn’t spend much time in the guest room. In fact, Eduardo ends up digging around in the hall closet for an air mattress and they drag it into Eduardo’s room, falling over and giggling as they take turns blowing it up.

And they’re having fun. Things are going really, really well, until the sound of the main doors opening downstairs echo throughout the cavernous house. There are sounds of people shuffling and heels clacking on the tile floor, far-off Portuguese… And then a deep male voice calls through the house, “Eduardo?”

Eduardo, who had even more been loose and comfortable than usual ever since they stepped out of the airport, immediately goes tense and edgy at the sound, like he’s bracing himself.

He rises quickly, straightening his clothes and smoothing down his hair quickly. The look in his eyes brings new meaning to the phrase _deer in the headlights_. Mark stands up too, trying not to look too concerned.

Eduardo finally looks over at him. “That’s my father,” he explains belatedly with a kind of sheepish shrug. Mark nods stiltedly, not meeting his eyes.

They stand there for a minute, and finally Eduardo seems to make a decision and heads to the door. He has his hand on the knob when he turns back to Mark. “Are you ready?”

Mark clears his throat. He doesn’t know what to _do_ , how the hell is he supposed to be _ready?_ He doesn’t want to disappoint Eduardo, since this is clearly important to him, but what if he doesn’t _measure up?_ To stop the never-ending lines of jittery worry running about in his brain, he thinks of clean, crisp lines of code and looks Eduardo straight in the eye, and says, “Yeah.”

Eduardo nods and they go out, down the stairs, and into the hallway, where Eduardo’s parents are taking off their coats and talking to some of the staff.

His father has vague resemblance to Eduardo that Mark can’t quite place. Eduardo has inherited his skin tone, hair color, and most of all, his height. Mr. Saverin is quite tall, enough to be intimidating, and the way he is dressed only accentuates that. The suit he is sporting is sharp, impeccably tailored, and uncompromisingly formal. Everything about him is angular, from his jaw line to the set of his shoulders.

He turns to them as Eduardo says, “Pai.” He steps forward and offers Eduardo a stiff handshake (which utterly confuses Mark, since he obviously hasn’t seen his son in a while and a hug would be more appropriate). “Eduardo,” he says in his deep, gravelly voice. “How are you, _filho_?”

Eduardo laughs a little nervously, like he is pleased to see his father against his will. “I’m fine, Pai.” Mr. Saverin lets go of his hand and steps back, and Eduardo looks unsteady on his legs, which Mark is _sure_ he’s never seen before. But then Eduardo is speaking again. “How was the opera?”

Mr. Saverin sighs. “I found it to be grating as usual, but your mãe was enchanted.” He turns around, his brows drawing together as if he is a little confused. “Isabel?” he calls. “Your son is here!”

Mrs. Saverin comes scurrying in from the kitchen. She is much shorter than her husband, but quite thin. Mark can tell right away that Eduardo takes after her. She has none of her husband’s ridges, but instead is all soft, graceful lines and curves. She swallows up Eduardo in a hug immediately, and Eduardo lights up as he wraps his arms around her. Mark smiles to see it.

“ _Namorada_ , I haven’t seen you in too long!” She pulls back and cups Eduardo’s face in her hands, affixing him with a look of pure adoration, and Mark’s respect for her grows tenfold. “How are you, Eduardo? I hope that Harvard has not been taking too great a toll on you, you worry me you know…”

Eduardo smiles like the sun back at her and shakes his head. “Mamãe, Harvard is fine. Everything’s fine. Better than fine, really.” He cannot hide his excitement as he continues, “I interviewed for a job this summer betting oil futures just a couple days ago, using meteorology. I think they really liked me, too.”

She gives him a huge grin. “Of course they did. You are…” she searches for the right word, “ _fantastico_!”

He kisses her cheek and untangles himself from her embrace to look at his father, who hums neutrally. “Do not forget about the internship I found for you, Eduardo,” he says, his tone expectant. “It would be very good for you.”

Eduardo’s expression is stiff, like he has trained himself not to let his face fall. “Yes, pai.”

Finally he turns back around to Mark. “Mãe, pai… This is my _melhor amigo_ , Mark.”

Mark gulps as Mrs. Saverin steps forward, and he offers her his hand to shake. She laughs brightly and pulls him into a hug, smelling like something rich and spicy Mark can’t identify. He’s a little taken aback by her greeting, and she gives him an amused smile at this as she pulls away. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Saverin.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs. “Call me Isabel, dear. I have heard so much about you that I feel as if I already know you.”

Mark’s eyes go to Eduardo on instinct. He is staring fixedly at the floor with a tiny smile on his face, blushing to the tips of his ears.

Mark looks back at her and nods. She steps aside as Mr. Saverin approaches, offering Mark his hand. They shake hands rigidly, and inside Mark is panicky not just because he knows that Mr. Saverin is an old school businessman who places a lot of value on a good handshake, but because he knows this impression will _count_.

“Mr. Saverin,” he stays, trying to sound confident.

Eduardo’s father nods at him (and Mark notices he does _not_ offer to let Mark call him by his first name). “Welcome to our home.”

They step back, and all four of them stand awkwardly for a moment before Mrs. Saverin starts to bustle about, breaking the tension. “Well, boys… Dinner is at six on the dot. We will see you there!” she calls over her should as she heads back into the kitchen. Mr. Saverin gives them both a final nod as he disappears through a set of doors on the other side.

Mark lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and Eduardo bounds up the stairs. Mark hurries to follow, catching up with Eduardo at the top as they head back into his room.

“So,” Eduardo says. “That’s them.”

Mark coughs a little, trying to gather himself together and smooth his nerves. He hadn’t anticipated that to be so… terrifying. “Your mother’s great,” he says, because he wants to say something nice but he doesn’t want to lie or make any early assumptions.

Eduardo laughs a little as they walk into his room, flopping unceremoniously into his bed. Mark sits down carefully beside him, trying not to make contact (which is difficult with the way Eduardo is lounged out across it unceremoniously). “She really is,” he says, staring up at the ceiling with a smile on his face.

Mark turns to him a little. “Wardo,” he begins hesitantly. Eduardo turns to look at him, curious.

“What does _melhor amigo_ mean?” he asks cautiously, mangling the accent a little bit.

He sees a hint of a smile from Eduardo before he rolls over on his side, and Mark’s heart flutters a little. “Best friend,” Eduardo murmurs. “It means _best friend_.”

\--

_“You keep lying to yourself / But the truth is you’re afraid, of letting go / So let go…”  
\--“So Let Go” by The Good Life_

If Mark had had reservations about Mr. Saverin before, the dinner only goes to confirm them.

He is immediately made uncomfortable when Eduardo sort of dresses up for it. (Mark can’t imagine dressing up for a _dinner_ with his own _family_ when they _eat at home_ and it’s _not a holiday_.) Admittedly, for Eduardo, on the scale of casual to dressed-up it’s only like a six on the scale, but Mark’s scale and Eduardo’s scale are quite different. Mark feels a little worried about his current basketball shorts, tee shirt, and hoodie attire, but not enough to persuade him to change because a) he only brought formal clothes for the Seder, and b) just _no_. Plus, he’s pretty sure Mr. Saverin already dislikes him and he doubts that his clothing will change that.

Things only get worse when they sit down to eat and the staff brings out each course. Mark doesn’t know _etiquette_. Is he supposed to thank them? If so, how many times? Every time they bring out a dish? Once at the end? He would follow Eduardo’s lead, but Eduardo’s lived with these people his whole life, and Mark doesn’t know much but he _does_ know that there are different expectations for guests. So he compromises, nodding at them and forcing a smile every time they set another dish in front of him.

The lack of conversation also unnerves him. Meals with his own family are always _noisy_ : usually there are at least three separate conversations going on at once and people have to speak up to be heard over one another. And that’s just an everyday meal, the meals on special occasions are even _worse_. If it’s a birthday, they all sing loud and off-key, and if it’s a holiday and there is some extended family in town sometimes there are _fights,_ aunts and uncles muttering under their breath at each other or yelling at their children and it all gives Mark a headache.

That being said, this isn’t any better. Everything feels stiff and uncomfortable, like nobody knows what to say to each other. The only sounds they make are those of people eating and cutlery on dishes, and _jesus_ Mark never noticed how harsh it sounded when the knife scrapes against the plate before. It’s driving him up a wall.

So when Eduardo opens his mouth to speak, Mark thinks _thank god_.

“Mark is into technology and programming,” he says, obviously trying to start a conversation.

Mrs. Saverin turns to look at him. “Oh, really? And how is that?” she asks. Mark knows that she probably has no idea what it entails, but she seems genuinely interested in a way that reminds him of Eduardo.

“It’s, um. Good,” he manages. She nods and looks back down at her food, and the discussion dies out as quickly as it started.

Eduardo tries again, this time turning to his father. “Pai, I’ve been tapped to become president of the Harvard Investor’s Association.”

Mr. Saverin looks up for the first time the entire meal. “The Investor’s Association?”

Eduardo nods and looks quietly pleased, like he’s trying very hard to contain himself. “Yeah.”

His father nods and doesn’t say anything. Mrs. Saverin, on the other hand, grins at him and says, “That’s wonderful, Eduardo. I am sure you will do a great job.”

Mr. Saverin _hmph_ s, like it’s doubtful. Eduardo turns to look at him, a little bit of hurt showing on his face.

“Pai?” he prompts, and Mark wants to say something like _no, no, leave it, don’t get into it_ , because this doesn’t look like it’s going to go well.

“Well,” his father begins, working the word around a bite of steak, “You just have to remember what we always talk about, Eduardo. Think with your _head,_ not with your heart.”

Eduardo flinches back a little, like that’s the last thing he was expecting. His face colors with embarrassment, but he pushes back just as stubbornly. “I _know_ that, Pai.”

Mr. Saverin raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you? You don’t seem to have a very good track record in that arena. I doubt college has changed you _that_ much,” he says, and then he shoots a look at _Mark_ , like he’s partially responsible, which just makes _no_ sense.

Eduardo goes pale and just gapes at him, at a loss for words, and finally looks away. He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the meal.

\--

After their plates are cleared away Eduardo makes a beeline to his room. Mark follows hesitantly because he’s not sure Eduardo wants him to. It would be totally understandable if Eduardo just wanted to be alone.

But he leaves the door to his bedroom cracked, so Mark walks in. Eduardo is seated on his bed, feet on the floor and his head in his hands. He looks up as Mark enters, looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean…” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish the sentence.

Mark sits down next to him, so close that their thighs are touching. All he wants is to make Eduardo better, he wants him to be _okay_. He wants to say something. He’s never good at saying the right thing, but this is _Eduardo_ , and for once, Mark wants to try.

“You could have told me, you know,” Mark says, voice barely a whisper. “I would have listened.”

Eduardo laughs a little and the noise is wet, like he’s holding back tears. Mark turns to look at him but Eduardo doesn’t meet his eyes. Mark is suddenly angry at Mr. Saverin for making Eduardo like this when it’s the last thing he deserves.

“It’s okay to hate him,” Mark says, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

Eduardo’s head jolts up and he looks at Mark with a fierce expression, looking indignant. Mark can feel his eyes widen. _Shit._ He’s said the wrong thing again.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Eduardo asks heatedly, eyes searching Mark’s face. “You’ve been here less than a _day._ ” Mark breaks his gaze but stays where he is, though part of him is panicking, brain screaming _run away run away run away_.

“So don’t pretend you understand,” Eduardo finishes, and the words are sharp. Not just in his tone, but Mark _swears_ he can feel them stab him in the stomach.

He rises and makes his way towards the door. “I’ll leave you alone,” he says. He looks back just before he steps into the hallways, just in time to see Eduardo curl in on himself and cradle his head in his hands, looking like he hates himself. Mark closes the door softly, and thinks he knows the feeling.

\--

_“I've heard some things, I guess it's better not to know / It's pretty bad as far as first impressions go / A bigger man could probably get past it all / Oh, the problem here is I just won't grow up / So what?”  
\--“Lousy Reputation” by We Are Scientists_

Mark spends the night in the guest room with the creepy dolls, even though he knows there is air mattress in Eduardo’s room with his name on it. But he’s a coward and he knows it.

He wakes up and the Miami light is streaming in the window. He blinks awake slowly, and then gets up and pads down the hall.

He opens the door just a crack, peeking through quietly. If Eduardo is in there, he doesn’t want to wake him. Instead all he sees is the bed, made neatly, the air mattress beside it. There is a quilt and sheets thrown over it, as if Eduardo had made it up anyway in hopes that Mark would come back. The sight makes his heart hurt a little, and Mark curses himself again.

So he goes in and rummages around in his bag, pulling out clothes and his toothbrush. Then he goes back to the bathroom and takes a shower. He lets the hot water beat against his skin and imagines that it is repeating the same mantra to him over and over. _Be brave, be brave, be brave._

Mark dresses quickly, not bothering to comb his hair, instead letting his curls stick to his forehead in a tangled mess. He brushes his teeth because he can’t get his mother’s voice out of his head, and then bounds down the stairs and realizes he has no idea where to go.

He remembers what Eduardo said on the tour and decides upon the kitchen. Mark pushes through the double doors.

It is comfortably noisy in there, sounds clattering of the staff making lunch and chattering to each other. No one pays him any mind, which is fine by him. He spots Mrs. Saverin in the corner, talking in Portuguese with one of the cooks. She looks up at him in the next moment, and gives him a smile. Mark smiles back, and she walks away from the cook to make her way over to him.

“ _Bom dia,_ Mark,” she says, her wide smile putting him at ease a little. Then she leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “That means good morning.”

Mark snickers a little at this. He would be offended if he didn’t know that she was messing with him. “Good morning, Mrs. Saverin.” She sends him a warning look and he corrects himself. “ _Isabel,_ ” he says, emphasizing the name. She laughs, throwing her whole head back, and the sound is bright, so much like Eduardo’s.

“Where’s Eduardo?” he asks.

Mrs. Saverin turns back to the counter, grabbing some recipe cards there and shuffling through them. “He went for a run,” she says without looking up.

Mark rolls his eyes, because _seriously_. Just when he thinks Eduardo couldn’t get any more perfect, he goes for a _run_ on their first day off from school. Mark hasn’t gone for a run _ever,_ unless trying to get from class to his dorm room as fast as possible counts. She looks up at him curiously. “Are you looking for something to do?” He shrugs.

“Did Eduardo show you the library?” she asks, and Mark shakes his head.

She leads him through to the parlor, and then to a small set of doors Mark hadn’t noticed the last time he was in there. She pushes them open, and then before him there are rows and rows and rows of shelves, all filled with books. He walks forward into them as if entranced. He briefly registers Mrs. Saverin giving him a knowing look and quietly slipping out.

He runs his fingers over their spines as he walks down the aisles. There is a shelf for business and one for economics, a section of cookbooks and another section on English. He doesn’t stop until he reaches a section on the very last bookcase, the bottom shelf. And there they are, an entire group of books on meteorology.

They seem to be arranged by age. The first few have names like Meteorology for Kids!, and Mark smiles softly as he carefully pulls it off the shelf. He opens it up to the first page, where written in curly script is, “To Eduardo, our little weatherman, for your sixth birthday. _Amor para sempre, Tia Evelyn_.” Mark’s brain is suddenly full of imaginings of a small little Eduardo, hair unruly as he pored over the book outside, blue sky stretched out above him as he looks up at the clouds, like he’s trying to predict the forecast.

He is snapped out of his reverie when the door creaks open. Mark looks up to find Mr. Saverin walking in determinedly, like he’s on a mission. He doesn’t see Mark at first, since he’s obscured by the shelves in the front, but as Mark peeks around to get a better look, Mr. Saverin spots him.

“Mark,” he says, making his way back towards him. Mark stands up from where he is crouched on the floor, the kid’s meteorology book still in his hands.

Mark clears his throat. “Mr. Saverin.” Eduardo’s father gives him a solemn nod and Mark speaks again just to fill the silence. “You have a wonderful library.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Saverin says. “It’s come from years and years of collecting.” He glances down at the book in Mark’s hand. “What do you have there?”

Mark holds it up so he can see the title. He expects to see Mr. Saverin smile, as if he is remembering Mark’s sixth birthday or something. But instead all he gets is another curt nod. “I see you have found Eduardo’s section.”

Mark smiles down at the book, as if to make up for Mr. Saverin’s lack of reaction. “Yeah.”

Mr. Saverin flips open his own book and clears his throat. “He has always had some strange affinity for that subject,” he says without looking up, as if it’s just something he doesn’t understand and has no intention to really try to.

Mark can feel his brow furrow together. “He enjoys it,” Mark says, feeling like he’s defending Eduardo/. “I don’t see why he can’t have a… a hobby.” _Shit,_ he’s not doing this right.

Mr. Saverin laughs humorlessly. “Yes, well, Eduardo has always had a tendency for giving his hobbies a little too much attention.”

Something about the way he says it just makes Mark that much madder. “Well, even so, it’s not like his hobby is _painting_ or something pointless like that. He can make good money with it.”

The only response he gets is a sort of neutral hum from Mr. Saverin, like he’s not going to admit to Mark’s point.

“Like that oil futures internship,” he says, the words tumbling out. Mark is an _idiot_ , he’s terrible at letting these kinds of things go.

Now Mr. Saverin does give him a response, a quick and clipped, “But the business internship sets him up for his future. It gives him real experience he will _use._ ”

“Why don’t you let him decide for himself what he’s going to do for the rest of his life, instead of forcing him into a career where he’s going to be miserable and it’ll be all your fault?” Mark snaps, and he can’t even hide his blatant dislike for Eduardo’s father, staring at him with a glare and steely eyes.

Mr. Saverin claps his book shut immediately, stepping forward just a touch so he is a little further in Mark’s space. “This is not your place.”

“Well, Eduardo is too afraid to stand up to you, but I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Nope And let me tell you something else.” Mark steps forward also, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m going to be polite to you and respectful this week, but only for Eduardo’s sake. Don’t confuse it for me _actually liking_ or respecting you. I don’t. I’ve only known you for a couple of days, but I can see right through you. You’ve instilled a sense of fear in Eduardo his whole life, and a sense of inadequacy, and I don’t care why you’re doing it, but it’s not okay.”

Mr. Saverin appears completely blown away, and he stands there struck. Mark simply leans down to put the book back on the shelf, and storms briskly out of the library.

He’s sure that his face is like a thundercloud as he makes his way out. He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears a, “Hey,” from behind them.

Eduardo is coming through the front door, and he has a small smile on his face and he’s looking at Mark carefully. The first thing Mark notices is his eyes. He’s looking at Mark with just a hint of embarrassment, like he’s sorry for what he said last night.

“Hey,” Mark says, smiling back. He hopes that Mark knows that this is his way of accepting Mark’s wordless apology. He can’t help it. He’s just happy Eduardo hasn’t decided to hate him for what he said. He can see now how stupid it was, and he feels sorry for it. But he decides not to dwell on it as Eduardo jogs up the stairs next to him, bumping their shoulders together with a smile. He’s a mess: sweaty from the run and his hair is windblown, but Mark could care less.

\--

_“I'm working on erasing you / Just don't have the proper tools / I get hammered, forget that you exist / There's no way I’m forgetting this…”  
\--“My Backwards Walk” by Frightened Rabbit_

They all seem to settle into a rhythm. Eduardo avoids his father’s gaze whenever possible, and Mr. Saverin and Eduardo exchange equally stubborn, silent looks (Mark’s not going to give in first). Mrs. Saverin is her bubbly, peacemaking self, except for when an argument erupts, in which case she tiptoes around it, like she thinks ignoring it make it go away.

The next night, they are working their way through another awkward and eerily quiet dinner when Eduardo clears his throat. “Pai, I got a call about that oil futures internship a couple days ago.”

Mr. Saverin nods curtly, but doesn’t look up from cutting his steak. Mrs. Saverin looks up cautiously, sensing the tension. Mark tightens his grip on his fork, hating every minute of this.

But Eduardo just composes his face into an expression of determination and tries again. “They, um. They want me for the job.”

Mr. Saverin chews thoughtfully. “It’s good to keep your options open.”

Mark is _fuming_. Because, seriously, does he not grasp how competitive and prestigious the position is? Where’s the _I’m proud of you_ and _good job_ that Eduardo deserves?

Eduardo opens his mouth, exhales, and plows on, resolve coloring his face. “I don’t want to keep my options open, Pai,” he says, the words rushing out of his mouth. Mr. Saverin looks up, vague interest evident now. Eduardo swallows and looks down, muttering into his plate. “I told them I’d do it.”

There’s the sharp sound of silver meeting ceramic as Mr. Saverin sets his force down forcefully, pushing his plate away and throwing down his napkin. “I would have appreciated if you consulted me before giving them your answer.” Eduardo just clenches his teeth, still glaring at his plate. “What happened to the internship I was able to pull for you?”

“I don’t _want_ the internship that you got for me. I got this on my _own merit,_ Pai!” Mr. Saverin scoffs in response. “”Besides, I’ll make good money doing it!”

“More than you would have made at that business internship?”

“How the hell should I know?” Eduardo is evidently upset now, red in the face and scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration.

Mr. Saverin pushes his hair back and stands up, and when he speaks his tone is dangerously cold. “Eduardo, may I see you in my study?”

Eduardo breathes out jaggedly, but stands up stiffly. He pushes in his chair pointed and Mark can see his hands as they fall back to his sides, which are clasped into fists and trembling. Mr. Saverin stalks out, and Eduardo grits out an “excuse me” to Mark and his mother before following, the door to the study left swinging in his wake.

Mark and Mrs. Saverin sit in complete stillness for a minute or so. And then there is sound.

It echoes through to the dining room. It starts out with harsh, short Portuguese in Mr. Saverin’s deep tone, and even though Mark doesn’t understand the words the tone says it all. It’s severely disappointed, and Mark feels guilty even though it’s not directed at him. Eduardo cuts him off, frustration bleeding through his words in every syllable. Mr. Saverin interrupts, and their words overlap and then their voices gradually raise.

Mrs. Saverin stands up abruptly, gathering some dishes into her hands. She starts making her way into the kitchen, but then pauses and turns back toward Mark when she reaches the door.

“Would you mind helping me?” she says, and Mark practically trips over his feet getting up, grabbing plates and dishes and everything he can get his hands on.

They clean up in amiable silence, moving around each other easily. At one point, a door slams and they can both hear Eduardo stomp up the stairs, breaths uneven. Mark’s head jerks in that direction, but Mrs. Saverin doesn’t look up. Mark is torn for a second before she shoots him a look, the kid that says _don’t even think about it_. So he stays put.

About ten minutes later, everything is clean and put away. Mark is hovering by the door, not really sure what he should do. He’s never sure what to _do_ in these situations, and he doesn’t want to screw things up further.

Mrs. Saverin gives him a little smile, like she can sense his inner debate. “Check on him, will you?” she suggests, her face saddening a little. “He is always upset after fights like these.”

Mark doesn’t really know what to say about that, because, well-- _yeah,_ that seems pretty fucking obvious. But he doesn’t say anything, just nods a little stiltedly and then takes the stairs two at a time.

\--

_“We watched it all night / We grew up in spite of it…”  
\--“Romulus” by Sufjan Stevens_

Mark pauses in front of Eduardo’s room. It’s not exactly subtle, taking into account the way the floorboards are creaking underneath him, but he just needs a moment.

He’s worried, after the last time he tried to talk to Eduardo about his dad, how he felt like such an _ass_ for thinking he understood, thinking he could fix something that was nineteen years in the making in one night. He doesn’t want to do that again.

But he can’t let Eduardo stew up there, feeling like a failure, because he’s _not_. And he needs to know that. That’s the most important thing.

So he pushes the door open gently, rapping his fingers against the doorframe. Eduardo is lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling with his hands locked behind his head. His posture is very relaxed, but Mark still feels a little tense as he enters the room.

Eduardo turns his head and sees Mark. He breathes out a little, and Mark swears he can _see_ some of the tension leave his body. “Hey,” Eduardo says, a little nervous, sitting up.

Mark shuts the door behind him and doesn’t respond. He sits down at the foot of Eduardo’s bed with his feet tucked under him. Eduardo scoots down so that he is directly in front of him, sitting upright at the end of the bed and looking down at Mark. He looks like he’s waiting for something, but Mark is silent. Eduardo seems confused by this and twiddles with his fingers.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, and his voice comes out a little low but completely composed. “This whole trip has been… With my father and—and me, and then _you_ , and then…” He trails off, casting his eyes over to the wall.

Mark just waits. He doesn’t want Eduardo to feel like he has to share or explain, but he wants him to know that he’s there for him if he _wants_ to talk about it. Eduardo finally turns back to look at him, and explains.

“The first day, when you said…” he seems to battle back and forth in his head, and never really finishes the thought, but it’s not necessary. Mark knows what he means.

“I don’t hate him. I wish I could. I think it would make things easier if I did,” Eduardo says, shrugging a little, looking exhausted. “It’s just…” he raises his head and meets Marks eyes again. “He has a very clear idea of what he wants for me. And not only does he _know_ what he’s talking about, it also comes from really good intentions. He just wants life for me to be better than it was from him.” Eduardo looks down at the floor again. “And it’s hard to hate him for that.”

Mark _hmm_ s, thinking about it. He’s trying to understand, he really is… But in his opinion, there is no excuse or explanation that will change his opinion of Mr. Saverin.

Eduardo sniffs, and Mark looks up at him, and can see that he’s expecting Mark to say something. “Yeah,” he replies inanely. Eduardo looks a little relieved that Mark’s not going to, like, yell at him or something.

“But, Wardo…” And there is the face again as Mark says it; Eduardo looks back at him with such a hopeful expression. Mark wishes he knew why.

“Wardo, just know that…you’re—you’re _somebody_. Okay? And you don’t have to like, talk about your dad with anyone or make explanations for him if you don’t want to, but if you ever start feeling like you want out, then you... you should say something. And don’t let him—or anyone, for that matter—make you feel like you’re worthless. Because you’re not. You’re like, the greatest thing that ever happened to me and I just think you should know that. Um. You know. You should know that you’re valuable to someone.”

Fuck.

He says it all aimed at the floor, but there’s no hiding it anyway. He’s blushing furiously. He didn’t mean for it come out like that, honestly… He was just supposed to reassure him, not tell him how much he means to him, right there on the floor of Eduardo’s bedroom not even halfway through spring break.

When he finally gathers the courage to look up at Eduardo’s face, he doesn’t know what to make of the expression. Eduardo just looks… shocked, and rightly so.

But Mark can’t take it. He can’t take _not knowing_ , and he just feels _so embarrassed_. Even if Eduardo didn’t interpret it as Mark confessing his feelings, even if what he reads into it is only friendship, _Mark_ will know what it was, and he just can’t stay here and watch Eduardo react to that.

So he scrambles up off the floor and starts to head to the door. He’s sure the panic is evident on his face because Eduardo starts to look scared too. He gets up to follow wordlessly, trying to move faster than Mark to stop him, but he can’t. Mark is at the door, hand on the doorknob, when Eduardo’s voice breaks the stretch of silence.

“Mark,” Eduardo says, and the word comes out like a plea as he catches Mark’s hand. Mark turns to face him with a wince, but instead taking in Eduardo’s bloodshot eyes and his heart _aches_ inside his chest. “Stay,” Eduardo murmurs, softer than a whisper. “Please, stay.”

And the thing is, Mark can’t say no to Eduardo on a good day, let alone when Eduardo is looking at him like this, so bleak and broken and somehow still beautiful. So there’s no question, really; there never was. Mark was always going to stay.

But he wants more than that. More than just the boy who stayed, the guy who was always there, the best friend who picks up the pieces.

So he steps forward and kisses Eduardo.

Mark tries to fill the kiss with all the things he can’t find words for: the reassurance and comfort and encouragement he’s been trying to embody since that very first night. He keeps it slow, chaste even, and tries to catalogue the way the soft press of Eduardo’s lips feel against his own. Mark brings one hand up to wrap around Eduardo’s neck, and then he feels Wardo cup Mark’s face in the palm of his hand. He wants to know it all so deeply that he won’t— _can’t_ —forget it, just in case this is the only chance he gets.

As the kiss ends and Mark pulls back tentatively, trying to put off that terrifying moment after which he will _know for sure_ one way or another, no going back. He tilts his head up a smidge to see Eduardo’s’ face, and he just looks _blown apart_ , like he doesn’t even know what to think. His mouth is partially open, like he’s on the cusp of trying for some words, but then shakes his head minutely and shuts it, casting his eyes downward. Mark focuses on the floor too, simultaneously hating himself and wondering how he got to be such a colossal idiot.

Because obviously that wasn’t the right move, Eduardo’s here and he’s _vulnerable_ ; Mark throwing himself at him with all the recklessness and lack of planning of a seven year old is probably not what he’s looking for at this moment in time. Which just makes Mark feel even _worse_ , because now he’s not just a shitty friend; he’s a shitty friend _and_ a shitty person for taking advantage of Wardo like this.

He’s trying to work out how to best backtrack the whole situation until Eduardo clears his throat, forcing Mark to meet his eyes. “You…” he says, trailing off before he even gets started, looking just so positively overwhelmed and _shit_ Mark sucks at this. _Talking… emotions…_ all of it. How do other people _do_ it?

Eduardo speaks again, effectively cutting off Mark’s thoughts. “What was that for?” he asks, a little breathless and eyes searching. Time seems to slow down.

Mark considers his options.

He could lie.

He could shrug and walk away, and they could pretend it never happened. That way, at least, things would stay the same. Of course, this could backfire and make things _awkward_ between them, which is kind of exactly what Mark wants to avoid here.

On the other hand, he could apologize; say he was just trying to comfort Eduardo. Eduardo would probably appreciate the sentiment and let it go. He would understand, and things wouldn’t be weird. ..Okay, maybe they’d be a _little_ weird, but chances are less so than the first option.

Or.

Mark could tell the truth.

He could spill his guts and tell Eduardo exactly how he feels, how long he’s wanted kiss him. How he’s had a massive crush on him but he doesn’t want to scare him away. How he _knows_ Eduardo deserves better, so much better, how Eduardo deserves _everything_ , and he knows that, but that it doesn’t stop Mark from wanting him. _Needing_ him.

As he thinks about it, he knows he should go with the second alternative. It’s the safest, it leaves things between them in a good place, and it doesn’t scare Mark out of his mind just thinking about it.

But the thing is:

Mark’s always been a risk-taker.

So third option it is.

“Wardo,” he begins, letting his hand drop and fisting Eduardo’s shirt, squeezing his eyes shut. “I know this is probably the _worst_ possible time to tell you, but… I really like you. I mean, I— _fuck_ , Wardo, I _really_ like you. And I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, since…” He racks his brain for an event that won’t seem totally pathetic, because to say exactly what he’s thinking (right from that very first moment when Eduardo approached him at the AEPi party) would just make Mark feel like such a sap. But again, he settles for the truth. “Since the beginning,” he admits, finally meeting Eduardo’s eyes.

The good news is, they aren’t sad anymore, they look bright and clear in a way that Mark hadn’t dared hope they would be. Eduardo is looking at Mark with a happy kind of wonder, and he hauls Mark back in for a bruising kiss.

Mark makes a surprised but pleased sound into Eduardo’s mouth, and this time there isn’t anything chaste about it. Eduardo lays claim to Mark’s mouth greedily, possessive in a way that makes Mark go hot all over. He pushes Mark up against the door to his room and dips his head lower to Mark’s neck, biting at his jaw lightly on the way down and then leaving hot, open mouthed kisses in his wake, tonguing Mark’s pulse point (which makes Mark’s heart try to launch itself its way out of his chest) and then moving to nip at his earlobe. He whispers wetly into Mark’s ear, breath hitching at the words, “You too?” and Mark shudders at the thought.

And suddenly that’s enough; too much, even. Mark grabs Eduardo’s hand and tugs his forward until they both fall onto the bed. Eduardo lands on top of him and moves up so that he’s straddling Mark, breaths coming fast as he fumbles to open Mark’s jeans, and Mark lets a small whimper escape against his will.

Eduardo’s head snaps up, eyes wild and looking every bit as insecure and tentative as he did ten minutes ago. “Is this okay? Should we… slow down?”

Mark shakes his head immediately. The _last_ thing he wants is for Eduardo to slow down.

Luckily, Eduardo understands what Mark means, because he’s basically incapable of making words at the moment. So Eduardo just beams at him like the sun and then leans down to lick into Mark’s mouth. They’re both trying hard to keep from smiling as they kiss, until Eduardo pushes his hands up under Mark’s shirt to lay his hands on skin, which makes Mark gasp.

Soon that’s not enough, and Eduardo is tugging Mark’s shirt over his head and then sitting up again to resume his struggle to get Mark out of his pants. It’s a little awkward at first, a tangle of legs and clothes flying off the bed at maximum speed, but then it’s just Eduardo sitting back on his heels to look at Mark, who is wearing only his boxers at this point. Eduardo’s eyes flit across his body rapidly, drinking it all in like he can’t get enough, and Mark flushes all the way down to his collarbone.

“ _Fuck_ , Mark,” Eduardo exhales, making Mark turn even redder. “You’re so… so…”

Mark lets out a huff of breath and tries to glare at him, because really, he’s harder than he’s ever been and _Eduardo is fucking straddling him_ and this is probably the hottest thing that’s happened to anyone _ever_ in his estimation, and he would very much like to get on with it.

Eduardo never finishes the sentence, just looks at Mark like he is something beautiful, something special, something that he wants. He slips his thumbs under the waistline of Mark’s boxers and looks up at Mark, questioning. “Can I?”

“Y-yes,” Mark stutters out through gritted teeth, proud of getting a word out.

Eduardo pulls them down slowly, and after that it is all hands. Eduardo running his hands over Mark’s thighs, over his stomach, and _finally_ stroking him, imprecise and fast and too much and never enough.

It doesn’t take much, and Mark comes faster than he’d like to admit. But, who can blame him? It’s _Eduardo_ , the guy he’s basically mooned over since the year started, is kissing him and putting his hands all over him and, well—yeah. Mark would like to see someone else do better under the same circumstances.

Eduardo flops down beside him, and Mark feels warm and tingly all over, his body still humming pleasantly and coming down from his orgasm. Then he turns to look at Eduardo, who’s still fully clothed, and surges up to kiss him. Eduardo lets out a soft noise and Mark rolls over so that they’re facing each other full on.

He pulls back, whispering, “What do you want?” just centimeters from Wardo’s lips, eyes flicking back and forth between Eduardo’s red and swollen mouth and his eyes, pupils blown so wide and black that Mark feels a little dizzy.

Wardo blushes. It’s ridiculous, he just got Mark off, and here he is blushing like they’re _courting_ or something else ridiculous from the Victorian era. It’s insane. Somehow Mark still manages to find it ridiculously endearing.

“I want…” he murmurs, leaning forward just a little and raising his hand so that his fingers are resting lightly on Mark’s lips. He blushes again softly, and leans in to Mark’s ear like he can’t say it out loud, like he’s about to confess a secret. Mark can hear how arrhythmic his breathing is so close, and he feels goosebumps crop up all over as Eduardo’s hot breaths fall over his skin.

“Mark, I want your mouth,” he whispers, so quietly Mark isn’t even sure he heard right. But then Eduardo’s pulling back, looking at Mark with a shadow of a smirk, like he knows exactly how he just made Mark go hot all over.

So Mark nods fast, because _god_ he wants to, and the sight makes Eduardo throw back his head and laugh, the smug bastard.

They make quick work of Eduardo’s clothes (though unbuttoning his stupid dress shirt is an ordeal that takes teamwork) and then Mark gets to revel in the golden expanse of Eduardo’s skin, the graceful lines of his body. Mark kisses Eduardo deeply, and then starts moving downward, marking every inch of space as his own with an open-mouthed kiss.

He makes note of all of Eduardo’s reactions, the way he moans as Mark swirls his tongue around a nipple while thumbing over the other, the way he goes boneless and pliant when Mark bites lightly at his hipbone, the way he trembles when Mark presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh. Mark moves back to Eduardo’s boxers, which already have a wet spot at the front, and dives in, tonguing him through the fabric. Eduardo thrashes his head back and forth on the pillows above him, like the sensation of contact is too much already.

Mark tugs at the waistband, and Eduardo’s cock pops up, no longer straining against his boxers. Mark breathes over it for a minute; just to tease Wardo, who groans after a couple of seconds before thrusting his hips up, seeking friction.

“C’mon, Mark,” he slurs, like he’s drunk, like he wants Mark’s mouth on his dick so badly that he’s incoherent, and really, it’s not like Mark can resist _that_.

And the thing is, Mark really likes giving head. It gets him off, listening to the guy above him moan. He likes the feel of it, likes the weight and the taste and likes the way he can feel himself hardening while it’s happening, even if he’s just come. It makes sense, given his oral fixation, that he would be good at it, and well… Mark tends to like things that he’s good at.

But giving head to _Eduardo_ , somehow that manages to be even better.

Mark fits his hand around the base, and blows lightly on Eduardo’s dick to watch it twitch before he moves to lick a stripe up the underside. Then runs his thumb over the slit, Eduardo shudders, and Mark lets the head slip into his mouth. He sucks around Eduardo, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue, savoring Eduardo’s murmured, “ _Christ_ ” and then shuddering as he feels Eduardo’s hands find their way into his hair, tugging lightly and then feeling the gentle scratch of his nails. Eduardo’s hips snap up and Mark moves with him, but then gently holds Eduardo down, caressing his hipbones lightly.

“Mark, Mark, _yes_ ,” he moans, sounding completely desperate and wanton and gorgeous. And then he lowers his voice, “I used to—ah!—Mark, I think about this, in the shower. When I jerk off, I think about you—ohhh, yes, _Mark_ —and your mouth, Mark your fucking _mouth--_ ”

And suddenly Mark is fully hard again, even though he _just_ came, and it is all so ridiculous.

Mark hollows his cheeks and moans around him, removing his hand and taking in as much of Eduardo as he can. Eduardo comes with a wracked moan and Mark swallows around him, pulling off with a pop and climbing his way back up Eduardo’s body as he trembles.

Eduardo is still shaking his way through the aftershocks, and so Mark lies on his back and touches himself, coming again just as Eduardo is surfacing, who watches him jerk himself off, glassy-eyed. As soon as Mark has finished, Eduardo plucks some tissues off his bedside table and cleans them up. Mark looks down at him, and he seems Eduardo’s face, which looks just so… _happy_ , which is really all Mark has wanted for Eduardo this whole time. So he tilts Eduardo’s chin up for an innocent and sweet kiss, and then Eduardo curls into his side and they both breathe together.

Mark isn’t aware of falling asleep, but the last thing he _does_ remember Eduardo tangling their fingers together and raising Mark’s arm to press a feather-light kiss to the back of his hand.

\--

_“You bite my lip / You spike my blood / You make my heart beat faster…”  
\--“Faster” by Matt Nathanson_

It changes things.

(Obviously.)

But Mark is happily surprised by the fact that the changes are overwhelmingly good.

Because Mark gets Eduardo in the way he always wanted.

Now he doesn’t have to hide it or hate himself when he feels a surge of fondness for Eduardo. In fact, he can reach over and grab Eduardo’s hand and squeeze it, sending him a secret smile to go along with it.

He can tell Eduardo exactly how he feels instead of just thinking it as hard as he can and hoping Eduardo somehow learned to read minds.

He’s allowed to kiss Eduardo, and Mark’s pretty sure he will _never_ get over how great that is. The way Eduardo gasps a little into his mouth, the way he clutches at Mark’s waist and digs his nails in so they bite just a little, the way his own skin spikes with goosebumps all over when their tongues tangle together. These are perhaps the best things.

And then there is the sex. Which is something else entirely.

Because Mark hadn’t really understood sex before. Well, he _understood_ it; after all, he wasn’t a virgin (He’d slept with the girl he’d been dating all throughout senior year on prom night and he’d fooled around with one or two guys at Harvard). But he can’t say he ever really comprehended why people got so emotional about it before now, it had always just been about mutual orgasms. He thought of it the way that most guys his age think of sex: that it was awesome, something that you did because you had _needs_.

But Eduardo is teaching him.

Before Eduardo, Mark was never jealous. He could never figure out why people _would_ be. What was the point? If they didn’t want to fuck you anymore, there was always someone else who was willing to. But now when he thinks of anyone else seeing Eduardo the way _Mark_ gets to see him, a furious monster rips through his chest with envy. He didn’t know anyone could really make him feel that way, but Eduardo has managed it.

Most of all, Mark’s learning to appreciate the _emotion_ behind sex now. It’s not just mutual orgasms; it’s so much more… It’s giving a part of yourself to someone, showing them that you want them to know you entire. It’s getting as close as you possibly can to that person, emotionally and physically. It’s about the _oneness_ , two people occupying the same space for however short a time.

Mark gets that now.

\--

There are other things that haven't changed. Eduardo still dotes on Mark and looks out for him at every opportunity. Which Mark loves, same as always.

On the day of the Seder, they're getting ready in Eduardo's room, chatting idly as Eduardo puts on the most ridiculous suit Mark has ever seen (if only because it looks _so_ damn good on him). Mark is ready, wearing the nicest pair of jeans he brought and polo. He thinks he looks pretty good, if he does say so himself.

Eduardo is making the final touches, fixing his tie in the mirror. He turns around, sees Mark, and stops mid-sentence.

Mark feels a twinge of self consciousness then, because he may not feel very secure in the way he looks, but normally he doesn't _care_. Anyone who can't look past his appearance to get to his ideas-- _the ones that are going to change the world someday_ \--is an idiot and not worth knowing. (There are a lot of idiots.). Mark doesn't care about them.

But he does care how _Eduardo_ sees him. Once again, Eduardo is proving to be the exception.

It ends up not mattering though, because Eduardo just ends up chuckling good-naturedly. "Mark," he says, drawing out his voice with a pleading edge. "You can't wear that."

"Why not?"

Eduardo just looks at him with a hint of a smirk. "Because my father will have a heart attack."

Mark hadn't anticipated this dilemma, just like the rest of the elements of Eduardo's family. He huffs out a breath in frustration and glares petulantly at Eduardo. "Well, what do you suggest I wear instead?"

Eduardo frowns, and then starts rummaging around in his closet. Mark folds his arms and acts childish the whole time just to mess with him.

He emerges holding out a pair of charcoal slacks, rolling his eyes fondly at Mark's antics. "Here," he says. "Try these on."

Mark does. He doesn't like the way they feel, kind of itchy and too tight, plus Eduardo's taller than he is so they have to safety pin up the extra fabric. This results in much goofing off and giggling in front of Eduardo's full length mirror as Mark wiggles around in the pants and acts grumpy. It's all worth it though, for the way Eduardo is clutching his stomach and laughing until tears stream down his face.

Once that's done, Eduardo stands back up and surveys his work. "Not bad," he assesses. Then he wrinkles his nose (Mark bites his lip and tries not to find that adorable). "The shirt doesn't match now, though."

Mark groans in protest, but Eduardo is already disappearing back into his closet before he pulls out a navy, long sleeve button down, brandishing it at Mark.

He puts it on, acting much more annoyed than he actually feels with the whole ordeal. When he's done, he puts his hands out to the side in a _"see?"_ pose.

Eduardo just rolls his eyes at Mark fondly, pulling him in by the arm. "You've done all the buttons one off."

Mark blushes furiously, but the endearing nature of Eduardo's tone doesn't make him feel like an idiot. Soon it is fixed, and Eduardo moves his hands up to pull Mark in by the collar.

"You look really good in my clothes," he says a little breathlessly between their lips, and Mark's own breathing hitches at the suggestion in his tone as Eduardo kisses him, slow and deliberate and just a touch messy.

It would all be very well and good in Mark's opinion if the two of them just skipped the Seder and did this all day, but Eduardo pulls back quickly. Mark pouts in response.

Eduardo laughs. "That's not going to work on me, I just spent an inordinate amount of time fixing my hair and I'm not going to let you get me all disheveled. Then my parents would know exactly what we're doing and this whole trip would go south."

The logic is sound, but it still takes a few minutes for him to convince Mark to stop touching him.

\--

He thought it would be kind of hot, walking around Eduardo's house in his clothes without anyone else knowing. Like a secret thrill.

It's something else entirely.

He gets caught up in the tradition of the ceremony, as he has ever since he was a little boy. He finds something incredibly moving about all of it, doing something that people have done for centuries; around the same time and saying the same words. Mark may not believe in God or anything like that, but he still has always thought it's pretty special.

But somehow it means even more with Eduardo there, watching him burn the chametz and the way his face flickers in the golden light of the embers, a soft expression on his face. Seeing the way he asks the Four Questions, something he's done as long as he can remember (this inevitably makes Mark think of a young Eduardo: surely smaller but probably just as awed), the way he listens to his father retell the Maggid with rapt attention, eyes shining. It feels... magical, Mark knows no other word for it.

Something tightens in his chest not just to witness it, but to be a part of it in a way different than he ever has before. He feels lucky, because this is something big, something important to Eduardo, and to show it to _Mark_.

He catches Eduardo's eye during as it's almost over, during the final praises of the Hallel. Eduardo gives him a look of complete trust, of gratitude and affection, and Mark is sure that his feelings for Eduardo have never been stronger than at this moment. He shoots back a real smile, the kind with teeth and dimples, trying to communicate everything he's thinking and feeling just in that one look. Eduardo must get some of it, because his smile widens even more at the sight and Mark has butterflies in his stomach.

That night in Eduardo's room they don't fuck so much as make love: slow movements against each other and deep kisses, careful touches. They're both trembling as they come simultaneously in the dark. Neither of them say anything, Eduardo just takes Mark's hand and places it flat over his chest, where Mark can feel Eduardo's heart beating wildly underneath. He swallows the lump in his throat and kisses Eduardo again, trying to show him the feelings Mark himself doesn't even have the words for.

\--

The rest of the week passes incredibly quickly, and everything goes well. The two of them spend most of it holed up in Eduardo’s room or the rec room. They make out lazily, not even having to worry about being caught because Eduardo’s parents would _dare_ entering his wing of the house.

Of course, they do other things besides have sex all the time.

One night they tiptoe down to the kitchen at midnight. Eduardo seems completely comfortable in the kitchen, navigating smoothly around and directing Mark what to do: stir this, heat that, do this. Mark does as he’s told, rolling his eyes when Eduardo brushes the cocoa powder out of his hair and kisses the bit of extra chocolate off his lips. When they’re finished, they have _brigadeiro_ , a traditional Brazilian chocolate truffle. It tastes delicious, and his heart feels light as Eduardo holds his hand as they eat them. Mark has to eat one-handed, which is a little difficult, but he doesn’t really mind.

Eduardo also takes him down to the library, pulling out his old meteorology books and telling Mark about how he used to put on his own weather report for his parents and fill his room with drawings of thunderstorms and tornadoes. He touches the Meteorology For Kids! book fondly where the spine is starting to come apart.

By the end of the week, Mark feels closer to Eduardo than he ever thought he could be.  
\--  
_“And tonight I know it all has to begin again / So whatever you do, don't let go…”  
\--“Us Against the World” by Coldplay_

Of course Mark’s luck would not hold.

The very last night, Mr. Saverin asks Eduardo if he could talk to him privately after dinner. Eduardo gulps and says yes. When Mark asks him later what it’s going to be about, Eduardo shrugs and says he has no idea. Mark can’t tell if he’s being honest or not.

Eduardo goes down at nine o’clock. Mark hangs out in the guest room, packing his things for tomorrow. At ten-thirty, Mark hears Eduardo stomp up the stairs and run down to the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing the lock.

The guest bedroom now feels incredibly empty as he lays there after finishing his packing, like so much else about the Saverin home. Mark never thought he would be grateful for the incessant, never-ending noise his own family seems to create, but the silence here makes him think differently. It lays like a thick blanket over everything; suffocating and stifling.

Still, he supposes that quiet is at least better than the shouting match from earlier. He hadn’t been downstairs, only heard the voices echo throughout the house. The cold, authoritative tone of Mr. Saverin versus the passionate, desperate pleas of Eduardo, followed by a sharp noise and a deadly quiet, in which Mark was _sure_ something had happened, but there was no way for him to know what.

Mark hadn’t gone to investigate yet. He didn’t want to mess anything up for Eduardo, but more than that he just didn’t know if he _could_ … Somehow he was completely, 100% positive it had to do with him, and maybe whatever he was going to do would just make it worse.

So he’s in the guest room, twiddling his thumbs more or less, when he chances a look at the clock. It’s three in the morning and he’s pretty sure his eyes haven’t closed _once_. He’s much too agitated to sleep; he had even turned on his laptop and fiddled around for a little bit but that didn’t help either. Apparently he’s too worked up to even _code_.

Yeah, this is a problem.

He fleetingly considers calling Chris, who is better with this kind of thing, but quickly decides against it. That would mean having to explain _everything_ … The Saverins, and him and Eduardo, and _god_ … that would take way too long. No, probably better to just try and do this himself. Even though it still makes him feel tense and panicky.

Mark throws off the blankets (and can’t help thinking for the millionth time how it is possible that Eduardo survives here in Miami when it is so goddamn _hot_ ) and gets out of bed. He creeps down the hallways carefully to avoid being heard, even though he knows it’s not really practical, what with the other wing and all. But hey, better safe than sorry.

He reaches the end of the hallway and taps lightly on Eduardo’s door. There is no response.

But Mark is just as stubborn as Eduardo, and the last thing he’s going to do is give up. If he wants to get any sleep tonight, he needs to deal with this.

So he turns the doorknob and opens the door just a crack. Part of him is surprised that Eduardo unlocked the door, but the other part of him really isn’t. If Eduardo left it open, it means that he was searching for some kind of comfort. From whom, Mark isn’t sure… It could be his mother (who is an expert comforter it seems). Or maybe he’s hoping against all hope for his father to issue an uncharacteristic apology. Either way, he’s pretty sure it’s not meant for him.

A sliver of light pours into the darkened room, and Mark can just barely make out Eduardo’s figure in the dimness of the room. He’s laying on his side, turned away from the door purposefully, and all curled up like he’s in the fetal position.

Eduardo lets out a sigh, and then says tiredly, “Mamãe, I told you… I’m not apologizing to him, não desta vez.”

Mark doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just whispers in-between the door and the doorframe. “Wardo.” He doesn’t mean it to be a question, he just wants to get his attention and know that Eduardo’s okay.

He rolls over on his bed to face the door and peers into the darkness, squinting. “Mark?”

Mark nods, but then mutters “Yeah,” because duh, Eduardo probably can’t see him.

Eduardo sits up, looking a little hesitant. “Come in?” he says, but it comes out like a question or like he’s not sure Mark will want to, which is just ridiculous.

Mark strides in, trying to act more confident than he feels. Eduardo scoots over on the bed and Mark gets in beside him, pulling up the covers and propping himself on an elbow so he can see Eduardo better, who is laying flat on his back.

Now that Mark’s eyes have adjusted to the dim light, he can see Eduardo crystal clear. He can spot the tear tracks down his cheek, the flaming red mark on one side... and now it all makes sense, the sharp noise and then the deafening silence. Something churns inside him as it clicks inside his head, and white hot anger pulses through his blood, matched only by the tingling protectiveness he feels.

Eduardo’s eyes are timid, almost as if he’s afraid Mark will think less of him now that he knows, and he’s shaking.

Gently, Mark raises one hand and places it carefully on his flaming cheek, letting his thumb caress it softly as he looks down at Eduardo. Eduardo’s eyes flutter shut, and he swallows thickly. “Wardo,” Mark murmurs, voice cracking on the word.

The sound Eduardo makes is vague and a little needy as he squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter.

Mark constantly feels out of his league with all this feelings crap, but right now he doesn’t. His heart is breaking as he looks at Eduardo’s expression and his fingers itch to give Mr. Saverin some of his own medicine. But most of all he just wants to wrap Eduardo up in himself, protect him from every painful thing in the world because Eduardo deserves so, _so_ much better than this.

For once, he gives into his instinct.

He shuffles down on the bed so that Eduardo’s back is flush against his front, and he wraps his arms around Eduardo, hugging him tightly to his chest. Wardo makes a wet, cracked noise that sounds like a sob and nuzzles his face into Mark's arm. He's still shaking, but it's okay because Mark is there to keep him together and make sure he stays in one piece. He's letting out these little occasional gasps that make Mark think he's crying again.

Mark hides his face deeper into Eduardo's back, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swirling around inside him. He's overwhelmed, but he wonders distantly if this is the good kind; because for once he's giving Eduardo exactly what he needs.

Mark doesn't know how long they stay like that before Eduardo finally exhales—shaky and uneven but whole. He seems to calm a little after that, and they just breathe together for a while before Eduardo turns in Mark's arms so they are face to face.

He reaches up to carefully touch Mark's face, so carefully it is almost reverent. It makes something tighten in Mark's chest. Eduardo murmurs, "Thank you," so softly, and then Mark knows exactly what the knot in his heart is.

It's love.

It's an entirely new feeling for him. He knows what it feels like to love a family member or a friend, but this is different... Scarier.

A part of him feels like saying "duh", because maybe on some level this was always the case. Maybe he's always been at least a little in love with Wardo. But in any case, it feels like a revelation, and he wants to say it out loud.

He wants Eduardo to know here, at his most vulnerable, that Mark still thinks he's beautiful and worth something and strong.

He wants Wardo to be the first person he says it to.

"Wardo, I..." he begins.

But then he sees how Eduardo is looking at him expectantly, and something about the expression scares him. Like he's worried he can't live up to it.

So his voice sticks in his throat, and Mark coughs and recovers. He opens his mouth, and he knows if he can't say it (at least in those three words), he still wants to communicate it somehow.

So instead he says, in a completely composed voice, "I'm really glad you brought me here."

And this is true too. He knows bringing him here, showing him the side of himself that he never lets on about at school, must not be an easy thing to do. He's so grateful to him, and he wants Eduardo to know that.

Eduardo smiles a little brokenly, and gives Mark one sweet, short kiss on the lips. "'Me too," he confesses.

They sleep then, and Mark dreams of the smile on Eduardo's face when Mark will say it.

\--

_“What did you get for the price of my head, was it worth it? / Did you forget that you said what you said when you slept in my bed?”  
\--“It’s All My Fault” by Nicholas Roy_

Mark knows that things won’t be the same at Harvard. They just can’t. They have classes to go to and other people to hang out with and they can’t just drop everything to be with each other all the time, Mark is aware of that. But he feels pretty confident that they can adjust in their new roles.

He’s a little hurt when Eduardo turns to him, as soon as they get in taxi to take them to campus, and says, “Mark, I don’t think we should tell anyone about this.” He’s hurt, but he understands. After all, he did just spend a week witnessing how Eduardo’s family worked. Eduardo’s just not ready for it—for them, to make whatever the fuck they’re doing public. That makes sense.

But at the same time, Mark had kind of allowed himself to hope otherwise. He figures this is all his own stupid fault.

So he nods mutely, looking down at his hands. He tries to arrange his face into something resembling understanding as he looks up at Eduardo, who looks scared and sad and confused, all things Mark never wanted to make him.

He tries for a reassuring smile, but it comes out a little wobbly. “Of course, Wardo. Don’t worry about it.”

Eduardo heaves a sigh of relief and Mark tries to tell himself that’s all he wanted.

\--

At first, it’s okay, the keeping it a secret thing. It’s a little bit of a thrill, even, to be discreet about it. It’s in the way Mark will fix Eduardo with a look of intense concentration and not look away until Eduardo turns away stuttering, ears pink. It’s how Eduardo will grab his wrist and drag him into an empty room to push him up against the nearest wall and kiss him, bruising. It’s Mark sucking Eduardo off thoroughly in his room, the two of them separated from Chris and Dustin by only one thin wall, the way Mark order him: _Wardo, you have to be quiet,_ and in the way Eduardo will bite down on his lip so hard to keep any sound from escaping. The way he comes with nothing but Mark’s name soft on his lips, the way that when Mark makes his way back up to kiss him they will both taste a little blood.

And then it isn’t.

They’re almost caught, just once. It’s in Kirkland, just the two of them. Eduardo is about to lean down and kiss Mark, his smile incandescent in a way that makes Mark’s pulse speed up. And then Chris _bursts_ through the door and Eduardo jumps back, looking frenzied and worried, contented smile gone. Chris, being the king of tact that he is, moves quickly, stumbling around and muttering about forgetting his textbook, but Eduardo just stares fixedly ahead at the TV, avoiding Chris’ eyes and _determinedly_ not looking at Mark.

Chris shoots Mark a look on his way out, slightly worried and apologetic. Mark shakes his head minutely at him, and hopes to god that Chris gets it.

Mark turns back to look at Eduardo after that, and for once his face is openly blown apart, showing every bit of vulnerability that Mark had always tried to chase away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking on the word, eyes brimming with an emotion Mark can’t identify. So he just curls into his side and wraps his arms around him, murmuring, “It’s fine” and trying not to notice the way Eduardo is shaking.

\--

After that, the only time they do anything is in Eduardo’s single. Which is great, in a different way, because there is nothing Mark likes more than the way his body thrums when Eduardo is spread out beneath him, golden and panting. But soon, even that slows and becomes more infrequent. Eduardo is ducking around Mark at every opportunity, claiming he has to go to a study group or an investor’s meeting or that he has a class he just can’t afford to miss.

Mark tries not to feel wounded by it, tries to be okay with everything. But he’s increasingly not.

And okay, Mark hasn’t exactly had a best friend before, but he’s pretty sure that this isn’t something you _do_ to them. You don’t sleep with them and act like they’re everything and then make them keep it a secret. And you certainly don’t just _stop_ without any explanation, avoiding them at every opportunity, without so much as a warning.

(If he’s being brutally honest with himself, Mark is pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend either, but, well. He can’t help it. That ship sailed for Mark a long time ago.)

It’s all of this that makes him say it, when Chris and Dustin are out at some stupid party. Eduardo’s sprawled out on his bed, studying, and Mark is at his desk, tapping away on his computer because at least code makes sense. He grits out, “We need to stop doing this,” saying the words as fast as he can so that none of the rawness will show.

Eduardo looks up from his book, face like a deer in the headlights. Mark looks up at him blankly, even though everything inside of him is screaming _that’s not what I really want, just stick up for yourself, fight for us so I feel like I’m not in this alone_.

But Eduardo just looks back down and says, “Okay,” looking resigned. And that’s that.

\--

After which there is Erica, who is fine. She’s nice to Mark and she’s straightforward, which _fuck,_ is great. Everything Mark wants out of a relationship.

He’s not really fair to her though. He knows that. Sometimes he’s cold and standoffish and maybe even downright mean. But it’s okay, because she just shakes it off if it’s unimportant, not worth fighting over, and assumes that this unpredictability, the distance he insists upon, is just another part of him. She doesn’t know any better, and he doesn’t give her any reason to. If it’s really important, she will fight him on it, will call him out and tell him to stop being an asshole. And maybe he needs a little bit of that anyway.

It’s also probably wrong the way Mark will hold her hand or whisper in her ear when Eduardo’s around. Not to make him jealous or hurt him or anything, no; Mark’s only intention is to get Eduardo to _do_ something about it, something other than look away and grit his teeth.

In the end, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Erica gets fed up with him regardless; calls him an asshole and walks away. Mark is so apathetic about the whole thing he doesn’t even fully understand what he did wrong this time and can’t be bothered to _care_ , thinks _fuck it_ and goes back to his dorm and codes.

And then Eduardo’s there, looking down at Mark so open and hopeful, saying “I’m here for you” and he’s so ready to jump back into it all again. But Mark _isn’t_. There was a time when he would do anything for Eduardo but that time is _gone_. He’s not about to put himself through the grinder again, get the happiness only to put up with the uncertainty and fear and heartbreak that are sure to follow. He won’t do it.

So he lies, says, “No, I need the algorithm…” and shuts it down, even though every part of him is rebelling inside. Eduardo goes along with it and the bitter part of Mark says to the rest of him: _see, I told you so._.

There are other moments along the way when Mark thinks that maybe, just maybe Eduardo wants to go back.

For one thing, there’s the day TheFacebook goes live. Dustin is rambling about some Stephanie chick and _has Mark ever seen her with anyone?_. In complete honesty, everything that’s happened lately has basically given him a _fuck you_ attitude toward everyone else’s happiness, but even if that wasn’t the case, he hasn’t slept in the last week because everything has just been _TheFacebook, TheFacebook, TheFacebook_ racing through his brain. So he really couldn’t care less about Dustin’s Stephanie ordeal.

He hears himself saying, as if from far away, “People don’t walk around with a sign on them that… that says…” and _bam_ , it hits him like a truck. It feels revolutionary.

Relationship status.

Knowing exactly where you stand. Something everyone wants, (and after the past eight and a half months) Mark more than most.

Everything feels like a blur until Eduardo is looking at him and saying, “You have no idea what this is going to mean to my father,” and then Mark, on instinct says, “Sure I do.”

Because he’s not going to forget spring break. He doesn’t think he _can_. Mark is brave enough to meet Eduardo’s eyes for a moment and is surprised to see a soft smile. It’s like an acknowledgement of all the things they never talk about, _that time_ , and then Eduardo says, with his voice a little thick, “That looks _really_ good.”

Mark wants so desperately to do something. To reach over and touch Eduardo’s hand or even just lean close and kiss him. But his heart is stuck in his throat and he looks away, and the moment is gone.

And then there is that night at the bar, when all he can hear is Eduardo’s breathing on the other side of the stall and all he can see is the way he smiles at him afterwards, Mark is _positive_ that it’s what Eduardo wants. And Mark is actually considering it. The way Eduardo is looking at him, it’s hard not to.

But then he spots Erica. He has every intention of apologizing to her, of telling her about TheFacebook and explaining how it’s really because of her. Erica inspired Facemash, which sparked TheFacebook, which is going to change the world. He wants to apologize and he wants to thank her.

But she is downright frosty to him, and that makes his mind up for him. He never even felt the same way about her of course, but it’s the same story over again. It reminds him how people can _change_ in the blink of an eye. He saw it with Eduardo, and now he’s seen it with Erica, and he won’t do it again. Mark leaves the bar with one solitary thought drumming it his head: _expansion, expansion, expansion._

\--

It isn’t until after the millionth member party, watching Eduardo turn and walk away when it hits him. This is _it,_ they’ve been playing a huge fucking game of chicken and now it’s over. Eduardo promised to come back for everything, but Mark is sure that the everything Eduardo means is not the kind that Mark wants. He means the kind that will hurt.

And it does. The depositions cut him like a knife because he’s forced to sit on the opposite side of the table for hours and a time with Eduardo looking at him indifferently while Mark tries desperately to remember all the times the opposite was true. That only makes it worse, as his mind’s eye compares _this_ Eduardo with the one who used to look at Mark like he was something special.

All he wants to do is say something. He wants the chance to talk to Eduardo without a full fucking legal team present, watching his every move. He doesn’t even want to say anything big. He just wants to ask Eduardo how he is, to make sure he’s okay. Chris has been giving him updates when he’s asked, but these are really just bare bones. It’s hard to go from knowing _everything_ about Eduardo to just being assured that he’s “fine.”

Besides, Chris never knew Eduardo as intimately as Mark did. He has no idea what Eduardo’s family is like, and there’s no way for Mark to know if Eduardo’s father is giving him shit for this or if maybe Eduardo’s shaken him off completely.

But it isn't like Mark's pining over him. He's really not. He's even dated a little since everything has happened. Well, _he_ classifies it as dating at least. Chris calls it fucking, since he always leaves before morning, but whatever. Semantics.

Either way, he's not moping around and listening to sad love songs and being a total pathetic mess over Eduardo. He'd just like to talk to the guy, that's all. And they were _best friends_. They owe each other at least that much.

Regardless, it's really not a big deal. Mark is _fine._

Except for when he isn’t.

These are the days when the thought of Miami creeps up on him. He avoids it at every turn, and so once in a while it just demands to be felt. When it happens, it reverberates down to his bones. He has to curl up on his couch or his office or anywhere private and just sit there, subject himself to the unrelenting pain and frustration and regret that washes over him in waves. It's the only way he knows how to make it go away.

And deep down, he knows that this is why he wants to talk to Eduardo. He wants to know if he feels it too.

\--

_“And there will come a time, you'll see / With no more tears / And love will not break your heart / But dismiss your fears…”  
\--“After the Storm” by Mumford and Sons_

 

Mark is waiting by the elevator, impatiently tapping his foot and feeling angry at everything.

The depositions are over, and he should feel lighter… At least that’s what his therapist says. _Tying up these loose ends is just going to make things easier, Mr. Zuckerberg_.

Fuck that. Things don’t feel easier at all.

The depositions have been a major stressor, that is true. They’ve taken time away from Facebook, his friends, he’s had to be in New York all the time, and it sucks. It really does, and from that end of things he’s very glad that they’re done with.

But on the other hand, he just signed papers settling with Eduardo, ultimately saying that won’t ever have to see each other again, let alone speak to each other. And nothing about that makes him feel better, if he’s being perfectly honest.

The elevator doors finally ding and slide open, and Mark starts to walk inside irritably (because he’s been doing everything irritably lately, why should he stop now), until he sees who else is in there and stops short.

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” Eduardo bites out under his breath, slumping against the back wall of the elevator.

Mark winces at the sharpness in the words, but hesitantly enters the elevator the rest of the way, because he is not fucking taking the stairs. They’ve just signed the papers; they can be civil towards one another. It’s going to happen sooner or later, so why not now?

He and Eduardo stand on opposite sides of the elevator, and Mark thinks about how damn appropriate that is. Like parallel lines, always going in the same direction but never intersecting. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose at the thought, because if he’s having these kind of thoughts he’s either becoming way more sappy than he ever wanted to be, or he’s still suffering from all the alcohol he consumed last night (So what if he knew he would sign the settlement papers today and wanted to get drunk? It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, Mark’s always been a sentimental drunk, this isn’t exactly _news_.).

Eduardo clears his throat, and suddenly Mark can’t stand the silence anymore; it is itch on his skin and he just needs to _break it_ before he goes insane.

“So,” he begins, working up a sigh and refusing to look over at Eduardo, instead staring intensely at the door like he can set it on fire. “I hear you’re off to Singapore.”

Out of his peripheral vision he can see Eduardo clench and unclench his teeth, something he always used to do to calm down back in college. Mark is probably a little happier than is proper that he’s getting a rise out of Eduardo, because shit, seeing Eduardo sit emotionless and cold on the opposite side of the table for the entire depositions is too long.

Eduardo finally nods once, even if he seems to do it begrudgingly, like he’s forcing himself. All that fucking _training_ about how to be a polite businessman from his father is coming out, even now, and at the thought Mark finds himself lit up with rage, just _dying_ to pick a fight.

“Running away, that’s always been something you excelled at,” Mark spews out nastily, more so than is necessary, if he’s being totally truthful with himself.

At that, Eduardo moves fast, stepping forward quickly and pulling out the emergency stop button and spinning so he’s leaning against the door, facing Mark head on. Mark’s taken aback, he hadn’t expected Eduardo to rise to the bait—even less so to be standing directly in front of him and looking him fiercely in the eye. Mark feels more than a little blindsided.

“ _I’m_ good at running away? Are you really that blind? What is there left to _run away from_ Mark, please, enlighten me!” Eduardo is _mad_ , angrier than Mark has ever seen him, red in the face from infuriation, spitting out the words in Mark’s face like barbs. Then he shakes his head and runs his hand across his forehead, an old nervous gesture Mark remembers, and the memories of it flash through his head ( _the network’s down, the cease and desist letter, the marlins and the trout)._ “Besides, you were better at it than me, just like always, at _everything_ , you were always better--”

“Of course you’re good at running away, Wardo--”

“You don’t get to _call_ me that anymore, Mark, you’ve lost that right--”

“What the fuck _ever_ , it doesn’t change the fact that that night at the Palo Alto house I told you to stay and you didn’t even hear, you weren’t even _listening_ , just walked right out the door and paraded away to freeze the account _\--_ ”

“Well what about you after Miami, Mark?” Eduardo shouts, and Mark flinches at the words. He doesn’t expect to, obviously, it’s just that he has to consciously remind himself not to think about Miami every day so hearing it out of Eduardo’s mouth hurts twice as much. There is a flash of triumph in Eduardo’s eyes at his reaction. “Yeah, let’s talk about after Miami. You just ran to Erica, ran to Facebook, the dilution; ran to _anyone or anything_ that didn’t make you face up to the facts. You just ended it, and as soon as you had a chance, you left. How long were you waiting around to break up with me, Mark? God, were you really that fucking scared of being with me—that _repulsed_ by me…”

Eduardo cuts himself off with a jagged exhale, and Mark can’t do anything but _look_ at him, really see the hurt in his eyes and he thinks that maybe this has been bothering Eduardo for a while. Eduardo tightens his hands into fists and Mark takes in the exhaustion in his brow, the wrinkles that weren’t there before, and it’s like Eduardo has aged years before his eyes.

He never really thought of Eduardo as an angry person, and yet here he is, screaming at Mark… and suddenly it hits him that he doesn’t recognize the person in front of him. He’s just someone who _used_ to be his best friend. That’s all. He’s not the same.

Mark can’t wipe the look of awe off his face; he just gapes at Eduardo and watches him deflate. When they finally break eye contact (and it feels like an eternity later), Mark speaks.

“You know what, I did make a lot of mistakes,” he begins, his normal tone sounding much too soft after their raised voices, still vibrating in his ears. “And I would _love_ to go back in time and change them, but I can’t. The next best thing I can do is apologize and try to explain, but you know what?”

Eduardo looks up at him, clearly drained. Mark looks at him intently, trying to communicate things in his eyes that he just can’t bring himself to say.

“When I do apologize and explain, it’s going to be to my friend. It’s going to be to someone who’s ready to listen, not to someone who’s still too furious with me to even give me a chance. It’ll be to _Wardo_ ,” he states, emphasizing the word and looking Eduardo up and down, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know who you are.”

Then he steps right into Eduardo’s space, hears the quick, surprised intake of breath, like Eduardo’s afraid (or maybe hoping?) Mark is going to reach out and touch him. But he reaches right past him and pushes the emergency button in with a harsh jab.

They look at each other fixedly, and then there is another ding signaling they’ve reached the floor. Mark murmurs, “Excuse me,” but Eduardo doesn’t move, just shuts his eyes like he’s trying to hold back tears. So Mark pushes past him, even though it’s not his floor, and doesn’t look back.

\--

_“And I thought it was strange, you said everything changed / You felt as if you'd just woke up…”  
\--“First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes_

So Eduardo’s out of his life, but not completely. In fact, if he was completely gone it would probably be easier to move on.

He still has to see Eduardo every once in a while at business functions. Mostly, Chris and the rest of his team are pretty good about scheduling things so that he can avoid it whenever possible, but every so often, it just has to happen.

It used to really fucking hurt.

It was so awful because it was the polite business man thing again, and Mark had always despised it, but when it’s turned on _him_ he hates it that much more. They shake hands and Eduardo will give him a tight, forced grimace, eyes blank. Mark used to wake up at night, breath quick, heart pounding, and chest tight because all he could see when he closed his eyes was that _look_ from Eduardo.

But things are better now.

It’s a combination of things.

Time is the biggest factor. He doesn’t stop missing Eduardo, but he does stop missing him quite so fiercely. Now instead of a sharp, stabbing pain it is more of a dull ache, the kind that settles into his body and never quite leaves. Mark is pretty sure that it will always be a part of him now, something he won’t ever be able to let go of completely. It’s just another way he defines himself now. Mark Zuckerberg: lives in Palo Alto, three sisters, CEO of Facebook, and forever brokenhearted over Eduardo Saverin.

There are other reasons too. He’s trying to be kinder to himself. Chris and Dustin encouraged him to seek help after a terrifying collapse not long after he met Eduardo in the elevator, which had been caused by Mark’s refusal to eat anything that wasn’t Red Vines, drink anything that wasn’t water, or sleep at all for a week and a half. So now he sees a therapist once a week.

They talk about a lot of things. Growing up, Eduardo, his stressors at work, Eduardo, his family, Eduardo, Harvard, Eduardo. They do a _lot_ of talking about Eduardo. It’s pretty much his therapist’s favorite subject.

And okay, as much as Mark doesn’t like to think about Eduardo, let alone talk about him, therapy is kind of good. It’s what makes stop having meaningless one night stands and hating himself afterward, it’s what pushes him to start working normal hours at the office, it’s what makes him get a dog to try and learn to love something back. Now Mark is the kind of person who has a post it on his monitor at work that reads, “Think good thoughts.”

But it works.

Now whenever he’s at some conference or benefit and sees Eduardo across the room, he doesn’t feel like vomiting. When they shake hands, he can smile tentatively and look at him without focusing on the hard set of his eyes, the harsh thin line of his mouth. He reminds himself that time and distance have done wonders for him, and he hopes from afar that they’re doing the same for Eduardo.

He expects the change is gradual, the way it was for him, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way when he only sees Eduardo briefly every six months. It feels like one time, he’s there, same as always, avoiding Mark’s eyes and looking pained to see him, and them _wham_ Eduardo is approaching him from across the room and reaching out his hand.

Mark’s sentence trails off as he gapes at Eduardo, and whoever he was speaking to excuses themselves. “Mark,” he says, and there is a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Mark wants nothing more than to pinch himself.

Instead he extends his hand, looks Eduardo in the eye and says, “I’m sorry.”

Eduardo blinks at him, like he wasn’t expecting it. He’s silent for a minute and his smile dies. Inside Mark is already panicking, because _jesus christ he thought this was one thing he could not screw up_. Eduardo swallows.

“That’s it?”

Mark winces. “I should have given it to you anyway. Making you think you had to earn it was a shitty thing to do.”

Eduardo’s at a loss for words. He shakes his head back and forth a little and withdraws his hand, looking up at Mark like he doesn’t understand. So Mark continues.

“I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry about the dilution and the depositions. If I had to do it over again, I’d do everything differently.”

Eduardo’s eyes narrow just slightly at that, a tiny signal of disbelief. Mark continues, his voice even more adamant. He _has_ to convince him. s

“I would! Wardo, I wouldn’t even move the company out to Palo Alto in the first place! I wouldn’t have said those things that made you freeze the account. I would have actually _talked_ to you about everything that was going on instead just assuming you didn’t want to be a part of Facebook anymore.” His eyes are locked with Eduardo’s and he refuses to let them fall, because he anticipates that the next part is going to be the hardest. But he thinks Eduardo needs to hear it as much as he needs to say it.

Mark lowers his voice. “And with _us_ , with Miami… I would have done that differently too. Dammit Wardo, I was just so _confused_ and I didn’t know what to do and… And we were both messed up.” Eduardo blushes a little and his face twitches a little, like he’s remembering and it hurts. Mark knows it probably does, he hasn’t forgotten.

“But I’m better now. I’ve worked through a bunch of shit and I think I can actually be a fully functional human being and handle a relationship now,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Eduardo cracks a small smile, which feels like a victory in itself. Mark allows himself a moment of triumph before he sobers up and plows on.

“Losing you is the worst thing that ever happened to me, and I want you back in my life.”

Eduardo exhales, like the words are a punch in the gut, and something in Mark’s stomach twists in nervousness, because _he’s so shit at this stuff_ , but it’s important. He needs Eduardo to know.

“It doesn’t have to be in, you know, _that_ way, but… yeah. I miss you.” The words feel heavy as they trip off his tongue and he feels like vomiting when Eduardo looks at the ground, toeing the carpet with his shoe.

This is probably the scariest thing he’s ever done. If it goes badly he doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able how to recover. He’ll just have to move into his therapist’s office permanently.

He’s already planning how he’s going to explain his complete regression to her when Eduardo finally looks up at Mark, searching his face for… something. Mark doesn’t know what. Sincerity, maybe?

Whatever it is, Eduardo seems to find it there, because he murmurs _“goddammit”_ under his breath and grabs Mark’s wrist, dragging him away from the conference room and into a darkened office nearby. Mark follows along blindly, still reeling from the adrenaline his confession sent pulsing through his veins, and then they are stopped.

Eduardo lets go of Mark’s arm and takes a couple steps back, carding his hand through his hair. His eyes are far away, like he’s trying to work out what best to say. Finally he takes a deep breath and starts to speak. Mark’s heart is thudding so loudly he swears Eduardo can probably hear it.

He laughs a little nervously. “I swear, I was just going to come here and shake your hand and walk away.”

Mark’s face must fall, because then Eduardo is stepping forward, grabbing his hand right away again as Mark tries to breathe. “No, no, Mark—It’s not that I didn’t want you to say that; you have _no idea_ how many times I’ve imagined that scenario. And I feel the same way. _Exactly_ the same.”

He can’t help it. “Really?” he squeaks. He doesn’t know what his face looks like but he’s pretty sure it’s in awe and he feels like such a _sap_ because Eduardo’s words have just made his heart literally skip a beat.

Eduardo smiles, like he likes what he sees there anyway. He nods, small and reassuring, murmuring back, “Yeah,” and tangling their fingers together.

There’s a beat of silence between them before Mark is reaching up on his tiptoes to kiss Eduardo. It’s tentative and soft, because he doesn’t know if Eduardo wants _this_ anyway, but he just can’t help it. Eduardo makes a soft noise of surprise but kisses back, reaching to cradle the back of Mark’s head with his free hand.

Mark had forgotten what kissing Eduardo was like. He’d _clearly_ forgotten that kissing Eduardo is better than kissing anyone else _ever_ , because he could just do this all day.

But Eduardo pulls away much too soon. He looks into Mark’s eyes and then rests his forehead against Mark’s, breathing out slowly. “ _Shit_ , Mark.”

Mark bites his lip to keep from talking and shattering the moment, because he wants to remember every minute detail about this. He wants to remember the way Eduardo is looking at him like he’s a miracle in the inky blackness of this unfamiliar office, the way their kiss had felt tentative but promising, the way that even the air around them seemed charged with nervous electricity.

Eduardo squeezes Mark’s hand and rolls his eyes at himself. “What I _meant to say_ earlier is that we should take this slow.”

Mark nods. He’ll say yes to anything right now, but he really does agree. He’s older now, and he’s learned the value of waiting, of being sure. His motto used to be “move fast and break things”, and he used to apply it to every aspect of his life. But he has learned that while that works for business, patience and certainty are good things in his personal life.

Eduardo turns red again, and their faces are so close that Mark can practically feel the heat. Eduardo breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor, looking uncertain. “And I’m sorry too. I know that I made it out like what happened between us—the way we fell apart—was all your fault, and it wasn’t. I made mistakes too, and I’m not proud of them, but I want us to do better this time. I know we can.”

He looks back up at Mark and there is nothing but fierce determination there now—complete resolve, even though his voice is quieter. “You’re right, I was _really_ screwed up, my family… Anyway, I’ve grown up too, and I’m ready for this.” He nods again, like he’s reassuring himself just as much as he’s reassuring Mark.

Eduardo is pressing their lips back together again before Mark is even aware of it, fervent and a little more desperate this time. Mark opens his mouth and Eduardo’s tongue works its way inside, and Mark’s pulse is banging at a thousand miles an hour. Eduardo’s got both his hands tangled in Mark’s curls and Mark has his hands fisted in the front of Eduardo’s stupid suit, which he’s probably wrinkling. However, he just can’t bring himself to care, not when Eduardo is kissing him and touching him like _this_ , like they’re trying to remind themselves of everything. God, Mark forgot how _good_ this was.

They break away to pant against each other, still tangled together and faces only centimeters away. Eduardo’s eyes are still closed, and he’s shaking his head back and forth a little as he says, “ _Fuck_ Mark, I used to think about this—Miami, you—and I couldn’t _breathe_ it hurt so bad…” He sounds like he’s close to tears but Mark can tell they are the good kind, the kind you get when you’re overwhelmed with everything wonderful that’s happening to you.

And there it is, the answer to that question from long ago. He thinks to himself that _this is why_ it will work this time, because they have both come so far and learned so much and gotten better in ways they didn’t even know they needed.

“Shh,” Mark quiets him. “Me too, me too…”

He kisses Eduardo again, trying to keep it measured to calm him down, and when they pull back he separates them completely. Eduardo keeps a hold of his shirt sleeve, like he needs something there to hold onto. Mark laughs a little, but kindly. “We said we were gonna go slow…”

Eduardo throws his head back and laughs at that, like he had forgotten completely. Mark feels everything inside of him warm at the sight, because it’s so different—so much better than seeing that cold, alien Eduardo across from his at the deposition table or standing opposite him in the elevator.

Eduardo quiets, but he’s still grinning as he nods in agreement. “Okay. We’re going to go slow.”

Mark’s a little disappointed at that now, because really, after that _slow_ is the last thing on his mind, but deep down he knows Eduardo is right. They need slow; they need to remember how to be friends with each other before they plunge back into this again.

Someone passes by the office and looks in at them fleetingly as they continue, and Mark is suddenly very glad they’ve gathered themselves. Eduardo flushes, straightens his clothes a little and sighs, looking up at Mark a little disappointed. “I should go.”

Inwardly, Mark is completely against this plan, but the conference is over and people are starting to leave, hushed noise starting to filter its way out to them. As perfect as this has been, it has to end. And that’s okay, because nothing is really _over_. It’s just beginning.

Eduardo tugs on Mark’s sleeve once and presses a quick kiss to his forehead, easing out the worry lines there. When he pulls back, he is smirking mischievously. “I’ll call you.”

Mark rolls his eyes, because sometimes it’s hard for him to believe Eduardo is a real person: how can someone be so full of raw emotion one second and then be completely silly and playful the next? But he plays along, calling out, “Will you?” as Eduardo walks backwards towards the door.

He pauses at the threshold, smirk widening into a grin that is so bright Mark swears it lights up the room. “Of course,” he smiles, and Mark feels his heart do a cartwheel, even though he had no doubt.

“I promise you, Mark Zuckerberg. You won’t be able to get rid of me now.”

Mark beams back at him a little shyly, the kind of smile he knows Eduardo always used to like best because you could see just a hint of his dimples. “I certainly hope not,” Mark replies, and then Eduardo smile pulls up one last time and he turns to leave. Mark walks close to the glass wall of the office and watches Eduardo make his way out. It feels like everything.

\--

_“And they said you were the crooked kind / And that you'd never have no worth / But you were always gold to me…”  
\--“Always Gold” by Radical Face_

The next time he sees Eduardo, it’s much different.

They’ve been keeping in touch, legitimately trying to rebuild things for two months from opposite sides of the planet. And it’s difficult; Mark isn’t going to pretend it isn’t. There are times that all he wants is to skip over this hard part and go right back to where they were before, but he has learned that it doesn’t work like that. There have to be fights, and anger, and misunderstandings, and fumbling and worry and hang-ups and tears, sometimes.

The thing is, no one ever told Mark that relationships were worth the hard work. He’d always assumed that it would just be better not to give away too much of himself, to be indifferent to everything and everyone so that way he couldn’t get hurt. He never imagined that looking forward to a Facebook chat or a Skype date or a phone call late at night would help him make it through the day, that something as small as a smile or a laugh would make him completely forget the point of an argument.

He understands now that allowing yourself to let your guard down, to be vulnerable, to let someone have a little piece of you, is truly half the battle. Palo Alto to Singapore may be halfway around the world, but it doesn’t feel nearly as far as Palo Alto to New York did that one summer, because they’re both trying. They are back at square one, relearning (arguably, learning for the first time), how to communicate with each other, feeling out their own little language around the way.

So when Eduardo suggests that he fly out for the weekend, Mark is initially a little worried. They’ve gone slow, just like they promised, built this thing up like an unsteady tower of blocks, and he’s _so_ afraid that seeing each other again will obliterate all that careful effort. Last time certainly proved that when they’re face to face, slow is not their strong point. But after a day of panic, he finally figures if they’ve made it this far, they can make it through anything. And so he allows himself to be a little bit excited about seeing Eduardo again.

Eduardo shows up at his door, rumpled from the plane ride. Everything about him looks bone-heavy exhausted. But his _face_ lights up when he sees Mark, and Mark’s answering smile is so wide his face hurts.

“Hey,” Eduardo says, still grinning, a bag slung over one shoulder and a suitcase in the other hand, looking up at Mark from the doorstep with bright, pleased eyes.

“Hi,” Mark replies.

They just stand like that for a minute or so, caught in the moment. Part of Mark wants to usher Eduardo inside, itching to speed things along because he’s been so anxious for this, but he takes a deep breath and reminds himself to allow things to unfold naturally, let the moment be itself. This time there is none of the trembling nervousness thrumming in the air between them, it has been replaced instead by a careful thrill and it gives Mark goosebumps.

Mark’s dog Beast scrambles to them and barks, jumping up to put his front paws on Eduardo’s legs. It breaks the moment, making both of them catch their breath and laugh a little anxiously. Eduardo blushes and scratches the back of his neck, leaning down to pet the dog and coo at him a little. Mark clears his throat and steps aside. “D’you want to come in?”

“Yeah,” Eduardo breathes, gathering his things and stepping inside, Beast winding circles around his legs. Mark maneuvers so he’s not standing right in Eduardo’s space, but it’s still close enough that he can smell Eduardo’s cologne as he takes off his coat. His heart beats a little faster as he realizes it’s the same one from college, and he feels a little dizzy.

Eduardo turns around and wipes his palms on his ridiculously formal pants, looking as keyed up as Mark feels, never mind that he’s just finished an eighteen hour flight and should by all rights be exhausted.

Mark feels ridiculous, because he doesn’t know what to do. Things used to be so effortless with Eduardo and he’s terrified that after everything, things will be forced. And he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle that.

“What time is it in Singapore right now?” he asks instead, trying to remain composed but leaning back against the door and biting his lip a little out of jumpiness.

In response Eduardo lets out a shaky laugh. “It’s ten o’clock here, so…” Mark can see him doing the math in his head and smiles a little against his will, “two o’clock in the afternoon?” Eduardo hazards. “With the flights and everything I really haven’t slept, but I don’t really feel tired either,” he finishes with a shrug.

Mark nods thoughtfully and returns the shrug. “We could watch a movie,” he offers.

Eduardo smiles softly and agrees.

And so that’s how they end up laughing themselves breathless while Eduardo sits criss-cross on the carpet with Beast in his lap and Mark lays flat on the couch, clutching his stomach and wiping the tears from his eyes.

“You are _absurd_ ,” Eduardo manages through the giggles. “How is it possible that the only movies you own are the _Star Wars_ saga and the entire Pixar collection? How old are you, eight?”

Seeing the whole thing from Eduardo’s perspective makes it infinitely more ludicrous in his own eyes. “I’m just… I’m picky about movies, okay?” he says, gasping for breath through his laughter.

“Oh yeah,” Eduardo chuckles, “You’re a regular film critic who owns _The Phantom Menace_.”

Mark hiccups, trying to calm his hysterics. “The pod race sequence isn’t that bad, Wardo!” he protests.

They argue teasingly the whole way through the movie: Mark defends the integrity of young Anakin, Qui-Gon Jinn, and of course, the pod races. Eduardo points out the gaping timeline flaws, the terrible writing, obviously Jar-Jar Binks. They start out sitting about two feet apart on the couch, but as the movie goes on and they get more and more giddy they managed to inch closer and closer so Mark’s legs are in Eduardo’s lap and it feels _natural_ , like hanging out in Kirkland or in Eduardo’s bedroom in Miami, and Mark feels totally at ease.

The movie comes to an end, and they’re coming down from their high, even though Eduardo is still red in the face from laughing so hard. Mark grabs the remote and turns off the TV, sighing as he does so. Eduardo turns to look at him and there’s an indescribable fondness in his eyes, It makes Mark’s heart hurt not just because he feels it too, but also because he knows it’s exactly what he hadn’t noticed before.

He blushes under Eduardo’s steady gaze and feels so incredibly lucky.

Self-consciousness washes over Eduardo’s face and Mark wants to chase it away, but he doesn’t know how and before he can even try, Eduardo is hopping off the couch. “I should go to bed,” he asserts.

Mark sighs a little bit, trying not to let his face fall as he gets up as well. “I’ll show you to the guest room.”

He lies in his own bed soon after, marveling at how well everything went and trying to convince himself that it was actually _real_. It’s 1:30 in the morning and he should be exhausted, he usually is by this point (he can’t code into the night anymore, he’s too old for that), but he’s too tense to sleep.

So he gets up and heads down the hall to the guest room, tiptoeing a little. He creaks the door to the guest room open just a little bit, and whispers into the shadows, “Wardo?”

Eduardo rolls over and squints into the dark and lets out a soft “Mark?” from the far side of the bed.

Mark hovers uncertainly in the doorway, and thinks about how he is so tired of waiting. Not to say that the waiting and going slow hasn’t been worth it, but now Eduardo is in his _house_ and he knows _it’s not just him_ , he’s pretty sure he can’t screw this up this time, and he’s _sure_ this is what we wants. He’s through denying himself.

Eduardo must be able to see his inner debate because he laughs a little, soft in the quiet of the room but unmistakably tender. “Get in here.”

Mark smiles, heads in, and sits on the corner of the bed tentatively. Eduardo beams at him and shakes his head. “Not like that,” he says, grabbing Mark’s hands and pulling him down so that they’re both lying down and Mark’s arms are wrapped around him. They’re holding each other just like that night in Miami, and Mark knows that this time he can _do_ this, he appreciates exactly what he has and he’s not letting it go, not going to let it get away from him again.

Mark sighs and breathes in Eduardo. He doesn’t just feel happy, he feels like they’ve finally come full circle and they’re back where they belong.

“Welcome home, Wardo,” he whispers into his skin, and Eduardo squeezes one of Mark’s hands that he’s holding captive.

“I love you,” he whispers in reply and Mark feels him stiffen almost immediately, like the words just tumbled out of his mouth without warning and now he’s regretting them. Mark wants to say something in reply, wants to dispel Eduardo’s fears, but he can’t—his mind is too busy replaying the words over and over in his head ( _I love you, I love you, I love you_ …).

Then he shifts in Mark’s arms so they’re face to face, wincing a little like the words pain him. “Shit, Mark, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean—that wasn’t supposed to—it’s too early--”

Mark throws his head back and laughs, interrupting Eduardo’s frantic apologies, full and loud and bright in the honeyed stillness of the room. He just can’t help it. Eduardo looks at him with worry swirling around in his eyes. “Early? _Fuck_ , Wardo, early is the _last_ thing it is… It’s way overdue.” Then he shakes his head, because that’s not what he means, _shit_. “I mean—not just you, me too—for both of us,” he tries, hating how broken he sounds.

Eduardo’s face morphs into an expression of awe and something like wonder, and Mark wants to remember it forever. Eduardo lifts one of his hands and places it gently on Mark’s face, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. Mark feels himself flush there and he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed; he doesn’t even know what emotions he _is_ feeling… They are too many to name.

“Really?” Eduardo exhales, his voice hopeful, eyes shining, and Mark’s heart soars.

Mark bites his lip to stave off the smile which is insistently tugging up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, Wardo, of course… I love you too, I always did. I’ve wanted to say it forever, I almost said it in Miami, but I was…” he takes a breath and looks down, unable to look Eduardo in the eye, because he feels so _guilty_ about the person he used to be, back when he didn’t know everything he had. “I was a stupid, scared kid, and I wasn’t brave, and I tried but I couldn’t, Wardo, you have to, _have to_ know how much I wanted to--”

Eduardo cuts him off with a kiss, and Mark can feel the tears on his face, knows they’re on his own too, but nothing has ever felt more wonderful.

When they pull back, Eduardo’s smile is blinding, and Mark wouldn’t have it any other way. They laugh a little through their happy tears, and Mark takes Eduardo’s hand and kisses his knuckles.

They fall asleep like that, tangled up together. Mark holds Eduardo fiercely, eyes stinging with the relief of voicing things unsaid, the memory of Miami, and the euphoria of finally recovering something lost.


End file.
